


Falling All The Way

by lambchop33



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Casual Sex, Conference sex, Eventual Romance, Explicit Language, Falling In Love, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Happy Ending, Jealous Bucky Barnes, Jealous Steve, Kissing, M/M, POV Steve Rogers, Pining, Possessive Sex, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Rimming, Robots, Science Bros, Sexy Times, Steve Rogers Feels, Unwanted Dick Pics, best conference ever, mild germophobe Steve Rogers, safe sex until it's not, sexy engineers, until it's not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2020-08-29 18:42:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 76,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20211664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lambchop33/pseuds/lambchop33
Summary: Steve Rogers likes his job as a robotics engineer. What he doesn't like is being inconvenienced by attending boring conferences. When he gets roped into one by his boss, he's sure he's going to have a shitty time...until he accidentally meets Bucky Barnes. What he thinks is a weekend of casual-but-off-the-charts-great sex turns into a lot of pining for the one who got away, followed by a lot of surprise when Bucky reappears in his life, followed by a lot more sex.One glitch Steve has to worry about...he's falling in love with his fuck buddy. Make that two glitches...someone in his office is suspected of industrial espionage. While their tight-knit group tries to find the culprit, Steve tries to find a way to tell Bucky his true feelings.





	1. The Eagle Has Landed

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the ride. Please keep your valuables secured, and if you fall into the gutter, just come have a seat by me. ;-)

Falling All The Way

“Mission is a go.”

Clint Barton, a stocky, light brunet who couldn’t be quiet if his life depended on it, stage-whispers the words into Steve’s ear as he is bent over a computer monitor in one corner of their workroom. Upon hearing this secret message, one which everyone else in the space likely also heard, Steve looks up and around, darting his eyes to and fro to make sure the one person it really _needs_ to be kept secret from isn’t present. 

Thankfully, Tony Stark didn’t seem to be back from his departmental meeting and the coast was clear, so Steve breathes a sigh of relief and casts his eyes back to Clint as he straightens up, rubbing his hands together in glee. 

“I don’t think they heard you on the fourth floor, Barton,” he teases, the jibe having little effect since Clint has heard it probably a thousand times over.

He ignores it, in fact, in favor of giving Steve two thumbs up before strolling back to his own work-station two spaces down, a broad smile on his face. Almost immediately a message bubble pops up on Steve’s screen. 

_Thor: YOU GOT IT DONE, RIGHT?_

Stifling a grin, Steve types in, _TOLD YOU I DID, DIDN’T I?_ and hits send, looking across the long, rectangular-sized room and nodding at the giant blond man sitting at the other end. Their work stations are spaced around the perimeter with a long center island running down the middle, upon which sits a shit-ton of equipment, tools, and random odd and ends. From across the way, Thor gives him a salute in return to his nod. 

Steve had efficiently gotten his task done days ago and had informed all involved parties of the fact, but now that the actual day had arrived, everyone in the office seemed to be flipping out. Even Natasha, normally even-keeled through the worst project emergencies, had sidled up to him yesterday, looking for reassurance.

“Steve.”

Steve’s head was down on his work. “Keep your pants on, Nat, I’m calculating.”

“Steve!” The voice was more insistent but still hushed. “Is this gonna work?” 

“It’ll work,” he’d whispered back confidently, not even looking up from his spreadsheet. 

He and Sam had tested it with perfect results, so Steve isn’t worried. Speaking of the devil, Sam and Bruce, another co-worker, walk past Steve’s desk just then, stopping when they’re just abreast of it; Sam winks conspiratorially, while Bruce makes an “okay” circle with his thumb and index finger and holds it up against his belly. Sam’s dark skin contrasts vividly with Bruce’s pale skin tone, but both give him bright, white smiles. Pushing his black-framed glasses up on his nose, Bruce turns his owlish gaze to Steve. His dark, curly hair falls down messily over his forehead. 

“ETA?” he asks, eyebrows raised, and Steve shakes his head, shrugging his broad shoulders. 

“Not a clue.”

Sam waves a hand at them both, looking as calm as he sounds in his dark blue cargo pants and light blue button down shirt. “Relax. She’ll come through.”

“What if she gets distracted?” Bruce questions, with a nervous twitch of his top lip. “You know Darce, send her out for paperclips and she comes back with a new coffee pot and ten lottery tickets.”

“Scott and I both won twenty bucks off those tickets, though,” Steve puts in, chair squeaking as he leans back in it and folds his hands in his lap.

Sam snorts indelicately and props a hip against the countertop of the island behind him. “That’s why Peter went with her. Keep her on the straight and narrow.”

Tipping his head back, Steve laughs loudly. “Peter!” he repeats. “There won’t be anything _left_ by the time they get back here!”

Bruce looks concerned, but Sam merely shakes his head and pushes himself back up to standing. “He’s got strict instructions, dude, don’t worry!” 

“But—”

“Don’t worry!” Sam interrupts Bruce before he can even express any doubts about their plan and takes him by the arm, leading him away. “Now come on, we’ve got shit to do.”

Steve gets back to reading his e-mails for approximately one and a half minutes before he is interrupted again, this time by an excitable human grinning enthusiastically at him. He looks up from his screen to find Wanda Maximoff standing beside him, almost bursting at the seams. Her long, dark hair is pulled back into a low ponytail and her wire-rimmed glasses are perched precariously on the end of her nose. 

“Steve!” she whispers excitedly, pushing her glasses back up. “This is gonna be so great!” 

“Oh, no, uhh...” Steve lets his face fall. “Didn’t you hear, Tony went home sick?”

Immediately Wanda’s expression is one of such sadness and disappointment, he feels guilty for messing with her. “Kidding!” He grabs her wrist and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “I’m just kidding, Wanda!”

Her face brightens back up measurably before she makes a face at him. “You suck, Steve.” 

The anticipation level around the office is high, Steve reflects as he lets her go and turns, chuckling, back to his job once more. It’s not that they never got to screw around or have fun; the norm is quite the opposite in their office, as a matter of fact. Today is special only because they had long been planning on _surprising_ Tony, who prided himself on always being able to sniff out such attempts and spoil them before they happened. 

This year they had been extra sneaky, enlisting the help of Tony’s wife, Pepper, to create a secondary “surprise” and lead Tony off the scent. So far there’d been no indication he’d caught on, so everyone, including Steve himself, is feeling pretty chuffed. Curbing his eagerness for the time being, Steve does manage to get some work done before a red-headed, petite-in-size-only Natasha comes barreling into the room, heralding Darcy and Peter’s arrival with “the goods.” 

“Intact?” Steve queries, raising his eyebrows, and Natasha laughs.

“Yes, Steve, perfectly intact,” she replies, eyes twinkling merrily. “They’ve gone right to the playroom to finish setting up.”

Starting to stand up, Steve asks, “Is Sam in there?” and when Natasha nods, he relaxes and sits back down. Good. Things have to be situated just so, but Sam will know what to do. 

Now they just have to wait for two more things to fall into place, hopefully in the right order. To that end, about a half hour later his phone buzzes with a message from Stephen Strange, a tall, awkwardly brainy yet likeable member of their team.

_The eagle has landed._

Excellent. “Pssssssstt! Everybody!” Steve whispers really loudly, and all those present (which is pretty much their entire department except for Tony and Stephen) stop what they’re doing and look up at him. Steve waves his phone around in the air. “Stephen is on the way up with Pep. We just need Tony!”

Natasha, occupying the desk space to one side of Steve, takes a glance at the wall clock and then states, “His meeting is running kind of long, isn’t it?”

Sam, sitting on Steve’s other side, answers her with some snark. “Yeah, that’s what happens when you have a lot of pink slips to write out.”

Steve guffaws and Natasha fires back, “Maybe they’re having trouble figuring out how to spell _Wilson._”

“You think Wilson is the one they’re having trouble with, _Romanov?_ Or what about Odinson over there?” Sam says incredulously, and from across the room comes an indignant, “Hey!” from Thor.

“Romanov will be on the _promotion_ list, Sam, _duh_,” Natasha teases.

Sam is all smiles. “Oh, right—Natasha Romanov, President and CEO.” He holds up his hands, as if picturing the title written up on the wall in giant lettering.

“You forgot Divine Goddess,” Natasha reminds him, and from her other side Clint pipes up, pushing back on his rolling desk chair so he can see around her.

“No he didn’t, that’s Steve’s title.”

“Ha, ha, ha,” Steve groans and rolls his eyes.

This is what “normal” sounds like in their department, and it’s one of the reasons Steve enjoys working here so much. He’d started off at Jarvis Robotics in the automotive section, recruited fresh out of college, but quickly transitioned into Light Manufacturing and had been here ever since. Now just past thirty years of age, he’d had plenty of time to get to know this group; they were more like friends, almost family, rather than simply co-workers. 

The door to their office opens then and Tony strides in, heading for another door that leads to a much smaller room serving as his office. 

“Alright, crew of mine, I’ll be in here if anyone needs me,” he announces to the room at large as he sweeps through.

He keeps the door to his office open as a habit, unless he’s on the phone and needs quiet. The rest of them find this useful when they are playing practical jokes on him, but that’s never stopped Tony from maintaining that policy, and Steve has to admit, it’s a nice feeling knowing his supervisor is always available to go to for help, or even just to talk to for shits and giggles. 

They leave him to his own devices for a few minutes, till Stephen pokes his head in from the door leading to the playroom, signaling readiness. Then it’s game time. Steve hops up out of his chair, as was pre-arranged, and heads into Tony’s office. 

“Hey, Tony, we could use your help in the playroom.”

Tony looks up from a pile of mail on his desk. “Well, good morning to you too, Rogers!”

Steve smiles and runs a hand through his short hair. “How was your meeting?”

“Meeting-ish.” Tony screws up his face. “You know what it’s like when a bunch of paper-pushers all get into a room together and everyone wants to prove they pushed the most paper around?”

Steve has to laugh at that. Tony is their department head in name, but still likes to get his hands dirty with actual robotics work rather than just the administrative side of things. Steve is counting on that fact, actually. 

“Well then I’ve got just what the doctor ordered,” he teases, leaning on the door jamb. “Sam’s prototype isn’t behaving as it should, and we’re having trouble nailing down what the problem is. Would you come and take a look?”

Dropping the letter that was in his hands, Tony moves to follow Steve out of his office. “Love to.”

With a push off the metal door frame, Steve waits till Tony passes him and follows behind, trying not to giggle. So far so good. They cross the room and Tony pulls open the door, then steps in. Steve stands in the doorway, keeping it open behind him. Sam and Stephen are already inside, which isn’t unusual in and of itself, but the seven heads that immediately surround Steve, trying to peek into the room without garnering notice is. 

Tony has stepped deeper into the room, striding over to Sam’s prototype to examine it in detail. The “playroom” is their nickname for the lab, where they build and test out their creations. There are several prototypes and final models in the room, as they also generate upgrades to current products there, too; it practically hums with electricity when a bunch of them are in there working simultaneously. 

Stephen is nonchalantly loitering nearby, as if observing Sam’s work. Next to him sits one of the waist-high, wheeled trolley tables they use to move heavier stuff around, covered up with a grey shock protection blanket. The prototype Sam and Steve are working on is destined for small parts assembly in electronics, but today its job is quite different. That’s where Steve and his programming skills came in. 

“So, you wanna start her up?” Tony is saying to Sam, his back to Steve and oblivious to the crowd at the door.

Contrary to popular belief, robotics engineers don’t all make human-shaped robots who walk and talk. This prototype is a desktop model consisting of a long, white lever arm with movable joints, cameras and force sensors for a delicate grip. Tony’s leans his dark head in closer to inspect the pincer grip on the end of the lever arm, and Sam leans back, making a mouth-open excited expression to the others at the door as he pushes a button to activate the robot arm.

There is a gentle whirr as it stirs to life and swings around. Instead of performing its normal duty, it selects a marker from a tray positioned directly behind it and swings upward, writing letters on a portable whiteboard that was also conveniently placed behind it.

“What the…” a startled Tony says, hands on hips and head cocked to one side as he watches the letters start to form up on the board.

H A P …

Steve doesn’t wait for the first word even to be completed before lifting and dropping his arm like he’s signaling the start of a race. At once everyone starts singing “Happy Birthday” at the top of their lungs; the birthday boy jumps in surprise, spins to see who’s behind him, then laughs and shakes his head. He turns back to the board to watch the message complete itself (HAPPY BIRTHDAY TONY!) and as the song draws to a close, the metal arm swings back around and down, grasping the shock blanket and pulling it up and off the trolley table. This reveals Pepper, who sportingly had been crouched down underneath it. 

Laughing, she pops up, hugs her husband and turns him around to face everyone. The sheet cake brought in by Darcy and Peter is pulled out of its hiding place behind one of the larger prototypes, also atop another trolley table, and they all pile into the room together. Tony holds up his hands in surrender. 

“Nice job, everyone. You got me,” he admits good-naturedly and looks down to view the cake, chocolate with white frosting and decorated with a huge, humanoid-shaped robot with big eyes and a bigger smile, holding up one hand in a friendly wave.

“Very nice. Did Clint sit for this?” he jokes, as Darcy presses a cake knife into his hand. “Wait,” he draws out the word, expression more serious. “Am I still getting a surprise party Saturday?”

Pepper turns to him, shaking her long, blonde hair. “What surprise party?”

“The one I wasn’t supposed to know about,” Tony replies with a smirk. Then his face changes into wonder. “You _let_ me find out about that, didn’t you!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, love,” Pepper states sweetly, patting his back. “But yes, we _are_ having a party Saturday.”

“Fantastic!” Tony exclaims, brandishing the cake knife with a flourish and making the first cut. “Let them eat cake!”

\--

It is the next week when Steve gets called into Tony’s office, early on a Friday morning. Assuming Tony has new budget figures for him, or some other innocuous type of information, he goes in unsuspecting and plops down in one of the chairs opposite his supervisor’s desk. 

“So, hey, what are your plans this weekend?” Tony asks by way of opening up the conversation, rocking back in his desk chair. 

“Oh, not much,” Steve admits. Really he has just a quiet weekend planned: do some laundry, mop his kitchen floor, take in a ball game on the TV with Sam. Nothing big. Admitting that was his first mistake. 

“Great!” Tony claps his hands. “Because Clint was supposed to attend the Jarvis annual conference down in San Antonio and has just come down with a nasty case of stomach flu.”

“So you want _me_ to go?” Steve gasps, splaying his hand across his own chest. 

“Sure, we need representation down there and I trust you to bring back all the pertinent information for the rest of us.”

Steve shakes his head in abject horror. He’s something of a worrier, and his friends enjoy teasing him about the slightly neurotic but lovable parts of his personality. Like his tendency to text in full sentences with all appropriate capitals and punctuation, and without those annoying abbreviations people use all the time. Or his fear of flying. And more substantial fear of crashing.

“But I’d have to _fly_ down to San Antonio.” His face reflects his distaste for this scenario, lip curling and eyebrows drawing together. “You know I hate flying, Tony.”

Nodding, Tony leans forward in his chair. “Yes, yes I do know that…but I also know you’ve flown before and lived to tell the tale, so you can do it again.”

“But Clint was supposed to leave later today!”

“Ahh, excellent point,” Tony replies, stabbing a finger into the air. “Yes he was. And you do not have any pressing deadlines you’d miss by leaving post haste.” 

“Well, no, but…” (This was Steve’s second mistake, admitting that). “Who else is going from our branch office?”

Tony’s face becomes stony and impassive as he reveals the name. “Brock Rumlow from Automotive.”

“Aww, Tony!”

Tony lifts his hands to show he can’t do anything about it.

Steve’s lip curls even more. “But he’s a dick!”

Tony’s head shakes back and forth. “There’s no rule you have to sit together and be conference buddies. I don’t care if you ignore his existence for the entire weekend.”

Steve’s blond head is shaking too, same as Tony’s, so his boss presses on. “Come on, Steve, please do this for me. You’re the best candidate I have and I need your help here.” He makes doe eyes at Steve. “Now, in my time of _need._”

Steve purses his lips. Damn Tony and his pleas for help. As if sensing Steve’s wavering temperament, Tony makes a final push. 

“Just think, it’ll be _warm_ down there, and I’ll owe you big time for this, pal. Just sayin’.” Tony’s wide eyes and earnest face weaken Steve’s resolve until he crumbles.

“Well….ohhhhh….alright then,” he gives in, collapsing completely. 

Tony’s gleeful expression does little to brighten Steve’s. As far as he’s concerned, this weekend is going to be awful and a total loss. Flying on a plane, staying at a hotel, attending a boring two-day robotics conference with perfect strangers, except for Brock, who is a total douche? No, thank you. So what if it’s warm outside? The conference isn’t being held outside, now is it? Didn’t think so. 

Steve just stares at Tony, silently tallying all the ways this weekend will suck and semi-zoning out on what he’s saying about arrangements. He half-listens till Tony slows down and takes a breather, then has to high-tail it home to pack. 

Little does he know, the events that unfold at this conference will turn out to be the most un-suckiest of his life.


	2. Better Safe Than Sorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Steve's quiet weekend plans ruined, he makes his way south and meets the sexiest engineer on either side of the Mississippi-- Bucky Barnes. He may be struck speechless, but Bucky has a thing or two to say to Steve. With clothes on, and with clothes _off_.

Better Safe Than Sorry

Steve had just enough to time to race home, pack a bag, and hustle his ass to the airport to catch his flight. Tony had handled the change in plans, like cancelling Clint’s airline ticket and getting one put in Steve’s name, and altering the hotel reservation. Thank God he doesn’t have to share a room with Brock, because that would have been a deal-breaker. Steve has never been to San Antonio before but Clint always raves about it. He’s been to several of the annual conferences, in fact. Steve has avoided them like the plague. 

But here he is, close to arriving at his first (and hopefully last) one, he reflects as he boards the shuttle bus that will take him from the airport to the hotel. It’s fricking hot in Texas, not just _warm_, so the cool, air-conditioned interior of the bus is welcomed. Gratefully he sinks down in a padded seat and makes himself comfortable. He’d survived the flight, though breathing in all that recycled air for three hours challenged him to find his happy place. Who knew what germs were floating around in there? 

The hotel is attached to the convention hall; that he knows from the itinerary Tony had supplied him with, and it’s located in the downtown area. The shuttle ride is short and relatively uneventful, depositing him and a few other travelers in front of the hotel lobby. Steve takes a deep breath, grasps the handle of his carry-on bag, and heads in.

The hotel is of good quality; Jarvis at least didn’t skimp on accommodations when sending employees out of state. The lobby is very modern and spacious, with slate tile and an expensive-looking waterfall feature on a tall slab of marble, and a restaurant on the ground floor. In between those he spies a small bar with a couple of big screen TV’s and some sports-type paraphernalia decorating the walls. He passes this on the way to the elevators, his key card in hand. There aren’t many people sitting at the bar at the moment since it’s late afternoon, and Steve considers coming back down later for a beer. 

At the moment, he’s more concerned with getting up to his room and scoping it out. He’d already checked the National Bedbug Registry and this hotel was not listed as ever having a problem, but you really never knew till you got there. Steve keys himself into his room and looks around. Thank goodness there’s no carpet—the flooring appears to be engineered hardwood. Just inside the door to his left is the bathroom with a tiled floor, to his right a closet. Further in, the room opens up more to hold a queen sized bed on the left; on the right is a TV stand/bureau combo and a desk area. There is a large window looking out over the street on the opposite end of the room.

The décor is modern and tasteful, cream walls and blue tones on the bedding, but this doesn’t deter Steve. He parks his suitcase inside the bathtub and heads to the bed, lifting it up to check for bugs. Finding none, he sighs in relief and drops the mattress back down. Okay, this isn’t so bad. He moves his suitcase to the desk but doesn’t unpack anything into the drawers under the TV. Better safe than sorry is his motto. 

What he does do is change into gym clothes and head down in search of the hotel’s health club. Since he’ll be sitting for hours on end both Saturday and Sunday he wants to get in a good run today, so hopefully there’s a treadmill available. Pushing open the door, he looks around in pleasant surprise. The health club is larger than he expected, with three treadmills, three elliptical machines, a multi-station fixed weight apparatus, and a rack of free weights. _Nice._

Steve runs a few miles, enough to work up a decent sweat and take down a little of his nervous energy, then showers and gets some dinner at the hotel’s restaurant. Pretty decent food, but he’s still a bit restless when he finishes and doesn’t really want to go back up to his hotel room yet. Instead he wanders over next door to the bar. 

It’s a little busier now since it’s later on in the evening, but there are still empty spots here and there. The bar itself is set up like a square, with seating on three sides. On the right side there are four or five men and women who all seem to know each other and are carrying on quite an involved and boisterous conversation, so Steve drifts towards the left side where it feels quieter. He passes a couple having drinks and sinks down into an empty bar stool. 

Before he even settles his weight onto the wooden stool the bartender, a short brunette, maybe a little younger than himself, appears and asks what she can get for him. She brings him a bottle of beer and conversationally asks what his name is and what brings him to her fine city. 

“Steve. Nice to meet you,” he tips his beer in her direction. “Oh, and the robotics conference,” he adds, in only a slightly grumpy tone. 

The bartender makes an “O” with her mouth. “You don’t say. That’s what he’s here for, too.” She inclines her head to a man sitting cattycorner, with his back to Steve as he watches the game on the nearest TV. “Hey Bucky!” she calls out, smiling.

_Bucky?_ Steve starts to smile, but his face freezes when the man swivels his body around to acknowledge the bartender. 

“Yeah, Brenda?”

Short, dark, wavy hair falling back from his forehead, chiseled cheekbones, perfect, pouty lips surrounded by a light stubble of beard, and icy grey-blue eyes. One of the most stunning men Steve has ever seen. No, for real. He’s never seen a man who radiated beauty like this. His breath catches in his throat and he knows he’s staring, but can’t help it.

“I didn’t do it.”

Steve swallows the lump in his throat. “Sorry, what?” he manages to say.

The amazing eyes crinkle at the corners as the man laughs, a delightful sound to Steve’s ears. “Whatever she said I did, it wasn’t me.”

The bartender speaks up. “Steve is going to your geeky robot thingy, too.” She gestures toward Bucky. “Steve, meet Bucky, Bucky, meet Steve.”

“I think the phrase you wanted there was ‘intellectually-challenging robot thingy’, Brenda,” the man jokes, then shifts his gaze to Steve. “Hey there,” he says in a friendly voice, holding out his right hand. “So you work for Jarvis, too?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve nods and shakes Bucky’s hand. His skin is warm and soft, his shake strong and confident. “Light Manufacturing. You?”

A smile lights up that gorgeous face. “Same,” Bucky shares, grabbing a pretzel from a bowl sitting on the bar and tossing it into his mouth. He turns his entire body around to face Steve completely as he chews, giving the blond a better view of his body. The lump in his throat returns, bigger than before. Bucky is muscular, with thighs and arms that make Steve’s insides go all squirmy. In a t-shirt and cargo shorts, it’s easy to see the man is fucking _built_, on top of being handsome, and that’s a combination Steve finds sexy as hell—and completely irresistible. 

The bartender has moved on, heeding the call of another patron down the way and leaving the two of them alone. This would be a good thing if Steve could actually form real speech instead of staring and gulping air like a guppy. 

When Bucky swallows down his pretzel he asks, “What office you out of?” then holds up his hand to stop Steve from answering (which there was little danger of anyway) and adds, “No, don’t tell me, I wanna guess. It’ll make it more fun that way.”

Steve chuckles as he agrees, “Okay then,” and feels a little more at ease. Bucky’s friendly nature is quite disarming, and Steve’s grumpiness fades right away. Plus it wouldn’t hurt to know someone else at the conference _besides_ Brock, now would it? 

They start talking, playing a little bit of twenty questions as Bucky tries to figure out from what part of the country Steve is from, and his feeling of sexual attraction only grows. Been a while since he was so instantly drawn to someone but it feels _good_. Even though he has no idea if Bucky is available (no wedding ring, at least), or gay, and even though he expects this to go nowhere, it’s pleasing to have some conversation and _fun_ with someone he feels such attraction to. He decides to jump on this ride for as long as he can. 

They’ve been sitting and talking for quite a while about their work projects, about sports, about random topics when Bucky snaps his fingers and exclaims, “Cincinnati!” 

“Cincinnati? Nope,” Steve answers, popping the “p” in “nope”. “Why would you think that?”

“Well,” Bucky pauses, scratching his chin, “You seem like a solid Midwesterner. First, no Southern or New England accent I can discern so I ruled out those parts of the country. Second, vernacular. You called it the ‘expressway’ when you talked about the highway traffic from the airport, and I distinctly heard the word ‘jeez’ come out of your mouth when you dropped a pretzel. Hence my first guess—Cincinnati.”

Bucky finishes with a dazzling smile and Steve’s lower jaw hangs a little. “You mean to say not everyone uses the word _jeez_?”

A laugh bubbles up out of Bucky. “Nope.” He pops his “p” as well, still smiling. 

“How do you know that?”

“Military brat,” Bucky explains. “Moved around a lot as kids. Plus I’ve been to a lot of conferences and talked to a lot of people.” He shrugs lightly. “You pick up different things.”

“Hmm,” is Steve’s only comment on that as he idly twirls around his empty beer bottle. “You like going to conferences?”

Bucky shrugs again as he mulls that over. “I don’t _dislike_ it. They can be a pain in the ass, but the information is top-notch.” He grins, seeing Steve’s face. “You don’t like them, I take it?”

“Flying and staying in hotels gives me some anxiety is all, so I haven’t really been to many conferences, really.”

Bucky swallows down the sip of beer he just took and motions to Steve with his bottle. “You swim? I did some laps in the hotel pool after I got here. Might help relax you.”

Steve nods—about the relaxing part, not the swimming part. “Yeah, I hit the treadmill after I got here. Haven’t tried the pool, but the exercise room is pretty well set up.”

“The pool is great. Haven’t tried the hot tub yet.”

Steve’s wrinkled nose makes Bucky laugh. 

“Not a fan of hot tubs?”

“Hell no, that bacteria factory?” Steve shakes his head. “Hard no.”

Bucky chuckles. “You’re something of a germophobe, aren’t you. You wear a mask on the flight down here?”

“No!” Steve claims in a defensive tone.

“Thought about it, though, didn’t you?” Bucky teases merrily, and Steve can’t help smiling ruefully and admitting in a grudging tone, “Maybe,” before changing the subject back to Bucky. “You swim a lot?” 

This is a much more enticing topic, because in his head he’s picturing the man next to him in a tiny bathing suit, wet and dripping, and if that isn’t a sizzling hot image Steve doesn’t know what the hell would be. What he would give to see those muscles at work, with long, streamlined pulls through the water and that chest heaving for air. It’s enough to make his own body thrum with an undercurrent of desire, and he finds himself wishing that this encounter _could_ go further than just conversation. 

“Yeah, regularly,” Bucky is saying. “When you sit at a desk or you’re in the lab all day, gotta do something to keep up your stamina.”

He’s looking at Steve when he says it, and dear God, Steve wishes he wasn’t, because his cheeks start to burn like they’re on fire. Suddenly he’s extremely hot under the collar, with a completely inappropriate vision filling his head, of himself and Bucky testing out that stamina. More specifically, them both naked and in bed together, all hot skin and shared kisses and roving hands and _JEEZ_ he needs to calm down and get control of himself. 

Only Bucky leans in closer to him and that’s not helping lessen his _want_ or get control of his lusty thoughts. He leans in and waits till Steve’s eyes re-focus on his again.

“So, Steve,” he starts, and his voice is lower, not to be overheard by anyone around them. “I’m gonna tell you something, and you can tell me to fuck off if you want to, but I’m really quite attracted to you.” He pauses and bites his lower lip when Steve makes an involuntary movement in surprise, head jerking slightly. Then he continues, “So if you want to take this conversation elsewhere, I’m in.”

Steve takes a slightly wheezing breath, because his chest feels like there’s a boa constrictor wrapped around it. His entire body is tingling and his heart is thundering in his chest. Elsewhere? Steve doesn’t hook up with random guys much (OK, ever, but who’s counting?), yet somehow this feels like it’s a really fucking great idea right now. After all, they’re both consenting adults, just looking to enjoy each other’s company. Nothing wrong with that. 

“How many of those have you had?” Steve’s eyes drop momentarily to the beer bottle sitting on the bar between them, then back to Bucky. He’s only seen Bucky with the one bottle, and he appears to be pretty lucid, but no harm in asking.

Bucky’s head turns minutely away from Steve but his eyes remain centered on his companion as he calls out, “Hey Brenda! How many drinks have I had?”

Tearing his eyes away from Bucky’s, Steve looks over to where Brenda stands, pouring a shot. She holds up two fingers in a peace sign.

“I’m not impaired.” Bucky’s eyes drop down, taking in the entirety of Steve’s silhouette, then drift leisurely back upward. “And you’re not something I’m gonna regret tomorrow.”

Steve’s cock presses hard against his shorts. He keeps his voice low, and it comes out sounding like a rumble. “How’d you know I’m gay?”

Bucky gives him a feral grin. “You looked at my dick when I said ‘stamina’.”

“Correction,” Steve declares, and Bucky’s eyebrows form perfect arches. “I _tried_ to look at your dick, but the lighting in here isn’t sufficient enough to see anything.”

Bucky leans in so close before he speaks, Steve could kiss him if he wanted to. “I know a solution to that problem.”

Steve doesn’t even hesitate. His level of desire is spiking somewhere around the cruising altitude of airline jets. “If it involves my room upstairs, let’s go.” 

Having already paid for his drink, he slides off his chair immediately, with Bucky following close behind. As they near the bank of elevators, Bucky murmurs in his ear, “What room number are you? I’ll meet you there in a minute.”

“Four-oh-two.” Steve’s eyes have question marks in them, but there are other guests standing around waiting for the elevator so he doesn’t ask. The doors slide open just then and Bucky nods, mouthing “four-oh-two” before continuing on down the hallway. Steve watches him walk as long as he can, then hops into the elevator and presses his floor button. Once they were standing and moving he could see that Bucky is almost his height, almost his breadth, and if Steve has to admit to it, he’s got a size kink. 

At six feet and with plenty of muscle bulk himself, it’s rare for him to find a partner about his size. Especially one as incredibly attractive as Bucky is. The trip upstairs is short and Steve spends it trying not to pop a boner, because that would be a touch embarrassing, but his thoughts are totally on Bucky and what’s about to happen. The anticipation has his heart pounding, the sound of it drumming loudly in his ears. Bucky isn’t something he’s going to regret tomorrow, either.

The elevator doors whoosh open again and Steve keys himself into his room, flipping on the closest light switch. Now he doesn’t know what to do with himself, so he goes in to use the bathroom and brush his teeth. Might as well, right? Bucky meant it when he said he would meet him there in a minute, though, because Steve has barely finished with his teeth when there is a knock at his door. 

Upon opening it, the welcoming sight of Bucky holding a small plastic bag greets him. Again Steve’s eyes are questioning; he draws back to allow Bucky in, then shuts the door behind him. Bucky crowds him up against the door and presses the bag into his hand. 

“Condoms and lube,” he whispers. “The hotel drug store proved to be quite useful.” He doesn’t wait for a response before taking Steve’s face in his hands and slowly kissing him. 

Their lips meet and fireworks go off behind Steve’s closed eyelids. There’s no other way to describe it. Pretty thoughtful of Bucky to stop and think of safety—Steve’s fifty percent sure he’s got lube somewhere in his toiletry bag, but one hundred percent sure he doesn’t have condoms. Still, the bag gets dropped to the floor with a clunky thud when Steve gets kissed. He opens his mouth and Bucky’s tongue touches his, tentatively at first and just for a moment. Steve’s now-empty hands slide around Bucky’s trim waist to hold him as they give each other a few short, exploratory kisses. Under the mild beer flavor, Bucky tastes good. His lips are soft, his mouth pliant and willing. Steve wants _more_. 

To that end, he pushes his tongue deeper into Bucky’s mouth, letting it curl deliciously around Bucky’s tongue. As they kiss, one of Bucky’s hands slips around the back of Steve’s neck. The other works its way down over his shoulder to his upper back, and the solid weight of that arm holding him in combination with the way Bucky’s waist feels in his own hands is turning Steve on like no tomorrow. 

He melts back against the door and lets Bucky press in against him, their chests flush to each other, and it’s fan-fucking-tabulous. One of Bucky’s knees insinuates itself between Steve’s legs, followed shortly by Bucky’s thick thigh, and Steve encourages this by grabbing onto his belt loops and hauling him in more tightly, mashing their bodies together. 

A soft moan comes out of Bucky’s mouth when he does this and the grip on the back of his neck tightens. Not enough to hurt or to feel restrictive—just enough to say _I like this, don’t stop_. The hard outline of cock currently brushing against his thigh also says _don’t stop,_ quite a bit more convincingly in Steve’s humble opinion.

His own cock is firming up in response as well and he grinds against Bucky’s leg in a tight circle, getting an immediate thrill from the way that sends shocks of electricity through his groin and upward. Bucky’s thigh is all hard muscle and zero fat, perfect for Steve to try and get off against. Especially since his partner seems to be attempting the exact same thing. Slowly they’re both writhing against each other, dragging their cocks up and down, letting them push obscenely against the other’s body. Their clothes are just getting in the way at this point, and Steve is eager to shed them.

Releasing Bucky’s belt loops in favor of the bottom of his shirt, he peels it upward and pulls it off over his head. Bucky lifts his arms up long enough to allow Steve to work his shirt off, but before Steve can get his own shirt off or enjoy the naked skin he’s just emancipated, Bucky puts both his hands on his pecs and pushes him back against the door again, thumbing at his nipples through his shirt and making him gasp out loud. 

His lips find Steve’s and Steve is only too happy to kiss back, letting Bucky take charge and plunder his mouth with his hot, wet tongue. The moan he hears this time comes from his own throat, a low and slutty sound that results in Bucky’s fingers curling into his pecs, squeezing the rounded bulk of them.

There’s more grinding next, torrid and steamy and _a-ma-zing_ and though Steve feels like they’re standing in a sauna instead of his nice, cool hotel room, that doesn’t stop either of them from continuing on. Steve’s finally gotten his hands on Bucky’s bare torso, running them up his wide back, over all that smooth skin, and between that and the friction going on between their legs, it’s just about perfect. 

Except that Steve still has on all his clothes, and Bucky’s only half undressed. Huge problem. Fortunately Bucky seems to come to the same conclusion at the same time and breaks off their kiss to practically rip Steve’s shirt off over his head. He takes him by the arms then, backward walking them toward the bed. 

“Watch your six,” Steve murmurs around kisses as they approach the bed, because his comforter is folded up neatly on the floor, leaving only the sheets on the actual bed. Looking behind himself, Bucky sees what Steve’s warning is for and veers over to the side of the bed. He tugs at Steve’s shorts once as a directive, then kicks off his slides and unbuttons his own shorts, leaving Steve to tend to himself. 

Just as Steve starts to remove his own remaining clothes, he remembers the bag he dropped. “Shit,” he whispers as he turns and hot foots it over to the door to pick it up. Bending down, he snags it and returns to the bed where Bucky now waits for him, completely naked. Steve almost does a double take, Bucky looks _that good_ naked. His skin is lightly tanned, his abs fully defined, his dick thick and standing tall. 

“Oh jeez,” Steve whispers as Bucky takes the bag from his hands and dumps the contents onto the small bedside table. 

He picks up the bottle of lube as Steve sheds his clothing and Steve hears a familiar snap as the bottle is opened. He’s gotten his flip flops off and shoved his shorts down to the floor around his feet when Bucky takes him in hand and gives him a long stroke, his palm and fingers cold and slick with lube. His dick (along with the rest of him) is too hot to really care about the cold, but he nevertheless gasps when Bucky touches him, and reaches out with both his hands to grasp at Bucky’s hips.

They’re nice to hold onto so Steve takes full advantage of this, pulling Bucky close to him and leaning in for another kiss. Bucky grants him that wish, peppering him with short, teasing kisses as he slicks up Steve’s cock with his open hand. He doesn’t seem content to stand there long, not with the bed so close by and empty, and gives Steve a little push at the center of his chest, murmuring, “Up,” with a motion of his head to the bed behind them.

The lack of sensation on his cock when Bucky lets go is enough to get Steve moving. Anything to get Bucky’s hand back on him again, stroking and squeezing. Desire spreads through him like wildfire. Steve clambers up toward the head of the bed and lies down, rolling to his back so he can see where Bucky is, feeling the bed dip behind him as Bucky joins him. 

In fact, Bucky doesn’t just _join_ him, he gets on top of him and presses his own lubed-up cock against Steve’s, and fuck all if that isn’t even better than his hand. They’re both too impatient to wait for anything else so dick-on-dick contact is it. Bucky props himself up with his elbows around Steve’s head and his body weight sinking into Steve’s, and shoves his tongue so far into Steve’s mouth he may as well be checking for tonsils. 

Steve _loves_ it, kissing back just as enthusiastically. He grips the firm cheeks of Bucky’s ass as he grinds shallowly against him, rubbing their dicks together while they make out. Bucky’s knees are on the bed inside Steve’s spread legs, and he rocks up and down to create a truly awe-inspiring degree of friction. Thanks to his thoughtful ministrations it’s not rough—rather, the slick slide of one cock over the other is mind-blowingly good. 

A small whimper escapes Steve and is swallowed up in Bucky’s kiss. His hands slide into Steve’s hair, clutching at him as he picks up his pace. All Steve can think about is the feel of Bucky’s ass in his hands, Bucky’s mouth on his, Bucky’s hardened shaft digging into his lower abdomen. Whether they’re both leaking at the tip or it’s just him or it’s just the lube he can’t tell, and doesn’t care. What he does know is he’s pretty damn close to exploding. 

Bucky groans and kisses his way down along Steve’s jawline till he reaches one ear, grounding out a low, “Steve,” into it before nosing at the shell of his ear and then biting surprisingly gently at the lobe. Steve moans right back at him and digs his fingers into the meat of Bucky’s cheeks. 

“Yeah, Bucky, oh _fuck_,” he curses when Bucky’s teeth scrape over his earlobe, and then it’s a race to see who comes first. 

Bucky’s breath is hot on his skin as he buries his face in the crook of Steve’s neck, kissing and mouthing at him while they both pant for air and thrust against each other. Each time Steve bucks his hips he thinks that’ll be it, and it doesn’t take long before he feels it escalating, that tightening up in his groin and the electric tingling everywhere that precedes his orgasms. 

Tipping his head back into the pillow under him, he grunts and lets go, allowing the sweet tide of his climax to wash over him. He finishes first but Bucky is just behind him, pumping his hips through his orgasm, face pressed to Steve’s collarbone. He lets out a long, satisfied moan as they make a mess of each other, cum painting both their stomachs. 

Sure, it’s sticky but _totally_ worth it, Steve thinks as he wraps an arm around Bucky’s back, holding the man to him as they both wind down and let their breathing slow. Bucky brings his mouth back to Steve’s for more kisses, gentle this time, almost tender in nature. Even though they both just unloaded all over each other, neither rushes to get cleaned up, and Steve prays Bucky isn’t going to call it a night and go back to his own room. Not just yet. After all, they haven’t even used the second item in the bag he brought up. 

“Steve,” Bucky says conversationally, running his fingers through strands of Steve’s hair. He’s still on top of him, one leg draped over his and lounging comfortably. “Is there something _wrong_ with your comforter?”

Okay, not the first thing he expected to hear, but then Bucky’s personality does seem rather playful, so Steve is expecting a jibe of some sort. He’s used to that from some of his friends…okay, all of his friends back home. And while the A/C is running quite efficiently, keeping his room on the cool side, Steve doesn’t think that’s why his bed partner is asking. 

Turning his face to Bucky’s, he answers in all seriousness, “Did you know a lot of hotel chains only wash comforters once a quarter?”

Mirth touches Bucky’s eyes and he grins lopsidedly. “That’s both gross and informative at the same time. How fascinating…you ditched it prophylactically.”

“That gonna be a problem for you?” Steve hedges, lifting his eyebrows, and can’t keep the smile off his face with Bucky’s response.

“Oh no, I think you’re enough to keep me warm.”


	3. Sex Probably Helps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sexy times abound. And then there's the start of the conference! Woot! What a summary! ;-)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> p.s. I hate writing summaries.

Chapter Three 

Steve has just returned from the bathroom with a damp washcloth for Bucky to clean up with, having grabbed a second one for himself. Bucky makes a one-handed catch when Steve tosses it to him; the blond sits down on the bed and swabs at his stomach before glancing over at the other occupant of the bed. Bucky is holding up the washcloth, turning it to inspect both sides, and grins at Steve from one side.

“I assume this has been adequately sterilized?” he jokes, then applies it to the cooling mess on his abdomen.

Steve shakes his head, a smile gracing his face. How can it feel so easy and natural for Bucky to tease him when they really only just met? 

“I feel personally attacked, here,” he replies, holding out his hand for the cloth when Bucky finishes and striding back to the bathroom. He tosses them both in the sink and makes a second trip bedside. 

“Come a little closer and I’ll _show_ you my attack mode,” Bucky intones with a smirk, and Steve lets out short laugh before allowing Bucky to snag him with an outstretched arm and haul him back onto the bed fully. 

He falls on top of Bucky and stays there, pressing their chests together and moving in for a playful kiss. They spend the next few minutes kissing leisurely, letting their bodies re-charge. Bucky is a good kisser and instinctively seems to know where and how to touch Steve to re-kindle his desire. Currently one of his hands is roving down Steve’s flank to cup his ass, and his grip proves to be incredibly…stimulating. 

Steve’s erection starts to form again as curious fingertips move toward the cleft between his cheeks and delve inward ever so slightly. Faintly he groans and the fingertips press in just a little bit more in response. Nipping at Steve’s lower lip, Bucky whispers, “You like that.”

It’s not a question, more a statement of fact, and one Steve can hardly deny. His cock is rising and pushing into Bucky’s hip, and his breaths are coming quicker as his arousal level spikes. He likes to use his dick, that’s for sure, but at heart? Steve Rogers is a bottom, and right now he wants to get pounded by the hottie he’s taken into his bed, no ifs, ands or buts.

“Damn straight I like that,” he breathes, and Bucky’s pupils are dilating, turning his eyes more black than blue. 

“Anything you _don’t_ like I should know about?”

It strikes Steve that for a one-night stand, Bucky is really fucking considerate. “Cum on my face,” he replies at once. “Impertinent baristas,” he jokes, grinning when Bucky makes an adorable snorting sound and rolls his eyes at him. Steve thinks more seriously for a second or two. “Nothing too rough—choking and that sort of shit.” 

Bucky’s hands slide up his back, fingertips trailing softly up his spine. “So golden showers are on the table?” he teases. Steve figures he’s kidding but his nose wrinkles just the same, making Bucky chuckle. He lifts his head to kiss Steve gently on the lips. “Just kidding.” His fingertips then ghost back down over Steve’s rear. “But this is okay?”

Letting his eyes drift shut and a slow, deep exhalation escape, Steve nods and kisses him back. Bucky’s touch produces a line of tingling pleasure that shoots right up his spinal column. “More than okay.” His eyes pop open again and he looks down at his partner. “Anything I need to know?”

“I think we’re on the same page,” Bucky divulges before rolling them both so he’s on top, grinding his hardening cock into the lower portion of Steve’s belly. 

Steve moans with the thrill of it, aching to get that length inside him. Bucky’s knees are inside Steve’s spread legs as he pushes himself up on all fours, then bends and kisses the center of his chest. He’s not in any hurry, slowly working his way across the wide breadth of Steve’s pectorals and then down the center line of his abdominals, with tiny but adventurous nips and kisses. Steve lets him do whatever he pleases, sinking one hand into the soft hair at the back of his head, letting it slip through his fingers, and humming with satisfaction at the feel of Bucky’s lips moving over his skin. 

Before he delves low enough to reach Steve’s cock, Bucky stops and presses his hands into Steve’s hips, savoring him as if he’s just discovered his favorite dessert. His thumbs rub over Steve’s skin like he wants to feel every part of his body all at once but can’t quite figure out how to do it. The way his eyes alone move over Steve’s still form is enough to make him pant with need—Bucky doesn’t even need to use his hands for that. That said, though, Steve won’t turn those hands away. Bucky’s touch is scintillating and so sensual, Steve can’t help the bleating moan that comes out of his mouth. 

Bucky’s eyes finish their slow tour of his chest and stomach and return to Steve’s; he utters just one word—“Stunning”—and sits up straighter to reach for the box of condoms, opening it up to shake out one small, square package. Steve blushes slightly with the compliment but keeps his eyes locked on Bucky’s as he rips open the square and pulls out a condom. While Bucky rolls it onto himself and applies some more lube, Steve takes the opportunity to study the beautifully muscled appearance of his arms and chest.

So well-defined as to be flawless, he basks in the splendor of it before letting his eyes drink in other smaller details. Not much hair on his pecs, and just a thin line leading down from his navel to the base of his cock. Steve is a little hairier and he hopes Bucky didn’t mind that. Didn’t seem to, the way he licked over his chest and six-pack like he was born to it. Steve is looking forward to returning the favor and putting his own mouth and tongue on those rounded pecs and cut abdominals sooner or later. 

_Later._ Right now he’s got other plans, like getting Bucky’s thick cock inside him. He doesn’t know what positions his bed mate favors, but since Steve isn’t in the mood to have his knees pressed into his own shoulders, and also would characterize himself as a slightly bossy bottom, he takes the initiative and starts to shift his position. Bucky moves down right away, letting Steve swing his legs around to get on all fours. 

“Ohhhhhh, I was hoping you’d do that,” Bucky breathes, letting his free hand glide up over one cheek of Steve’s rear and across his lower back.

“Were you now?” Steve says in a silky voice, looking back over his shoulder at his raven-haired companion. 

“Damn straight I was.” Bucky repeats Steve’s phrasing as he knee-walks in closer again, pressing hot skin up against Steve’s backside, and oh _fuck_ is Steve positive he made the right choice, because having Bucky pummel him from behind is gonna feel so fucking good…

“It’s not that I don’t want to see your gorgeous face, but oh my God, your ass is _fantastic_,” Bucky croons, positioning his slicked-up shaft close to Steve’s hole. Steve can feel the fat head of his cock lined up as Bucky shuffles closer, eager for entrance. “I want inside you so bad.”

Steve leans back into him slightly, just slightly, encouraging him, and Bucky gasps once at the increase in pressure before pulling Steve’s cheeks apart and pushing forward on his end to breach him. Steve hasn’t been stretched out in a while (okay, a LONG while, but again, who’s counting?) so thankfully, Bucky is patient enough to go slowly, letting Steve adjust to every part of his entrance.

The head of Bucky’s cock intrudes more deeply, centimeter by centimeter, filling Steve up and making him moan in ecstasy. Bucky’s hands clutch at him, around his hips, around his thighs, grabbing at anything and everything he can as he buries himself further and further. At one point, though, it’s just a little too much, too fast and Steve involuntarily flinches, pulling away by a hair. 

Immediately Bucky stops moving but for his hand; he caresses Steve’s hip in a soothing manner and asks, “You need to stop?”

“No. Just gimme a sec,” Steve answers, head down between his shoulders as he adjusts. “Been a while since I was with anyone,” he confesses, staring down at the pillow under him. “Or wanted anyone this much,” he adds in an undertone, and hears Bucky’s forceful exhale behind him.

“As hard as I find that to believe, it’s also flattering as hell,” he reveals, holding steady on his position and not rushing to continue. “You telling me you’ve got _no one_ at home waiting for you?” He bends forward and to one side, trying to see Steve’s face, and Steve obliges him by lifting his head and turning in his direction. 

“Only if houseplants count,” he says, half in jest. He can see Bucky’s grin in his peripheral vision.

“Only if you named them…but then again,” Bucky muses as he trails his fingertips up Steve’s back, “Your houseplants might miss you more than my cat misses me. She sees me solely as a reliable food source.”

“Pretty scary cat if she wants to eat you,” Steve teases, and likes the way Bucky cackles behind him, even as he’s enveloped halfway inside Steve’s body. If he’s trying to distract Steve from his discomfort, it’s working. By now the sting has reduced itself and he feels ready for more. “Good to go,” he adds.

“Tell me if you need to stop again,” Bucky implores him, but wastes no time getting back to business. His strong hands grip Steve’s hips again and he resumes his slow, steady press onward, sinking himself ever more deeply inside Steve’s body. God, it’s heaven. Bucky fills him up so completely, Steve’s legs start to shake with the sheer delight of it. He’s trembling when Bucky finally pushes in far enough that his thighs make firm contact with Steve’s.

From there, Bucky huffs out a little whispery sigh and pauses so long, Steve starts to worry something is wrong. “Everything okay back there?” he queries, turning his head and trying to see behind himself. 

Choking out a short bark of a laugh, Bucky reveals, “Shit, I’m just trying not to come too fast.” He drapes himself over Steve’s wide back and kisses one shoulder blade. “You just feel _so fucking good._”

“Oh, okay then,” Steve nods and accepts both the kiss and the explanation. 

He wants to be good. He wants to be patient. After all, Bucky kindly gave him time to adjust when he needed it. But Bucky, fully seated and NOT plowing into him already? Not ideal. He successfully resists the urge to rock back on his cock and force more movement, but can’t resist clenching his butt cheeks…just a little…just to see what happens. 

The response is immediate—a surprised laugh followed by an indignant protestation of _“Steve!”_

Leaning in so his mouth is close to Steve’s ear, Bucky whispers impishly, “You know you’re gonna pay dearly for that.” 

Steve gets out approximately half of the word “promise?” before hands grasp his shoulders in an iron grip. Bucky pulls halfway out, then slides home in one long, powerful stroke. White spots cloud Steve’s vision as his prostate is nailed and a giant wave of pleasure rolls over him. He barely has enough time to brace himself before the barrage starts.

Bucky’s hips snap as he starts slamming into Steve’s backside, setting up a relentless pace. His cock rocks in and out of Steve in a tantalizing rhythm, one that makes him groan out loud and not even care how debauched he sounds. Bucky filling him up, moving inside him…he has no words to describe the sheer bliss of it. Bucky fucking into him, his breath hot on Steve’s neck, his chest rubbing across Steve’s back, it’s just _brilliant_. 

The head of his cock brushing over that sensitive nerve bundle with every pass is fucking brilliant, too. Bucky’s strokes grow longer, harder as he withdraws almost fully and drives his cock in, as deeply as Steve can ever remember being penetrated. Soon he’s gritting his teeth and starting to perspire with the effort of keeping his body stationary on the bed. His own cock is achingly hard, but he doesn’t dare lift a hand from the mattress to do anything about it; as it is, if they aren’t careful Steve will soon be in danger of sustaining a concussion.

Not that it would stop him. What’s a little head injury compared to the best fuck he’s had in years? Bucky keeps pounding into him and Steve delights in hearing the whimpers and blissful gasps that drop from his mouth, too. Bucky’s body feels slick behind him and Steve can feel his own back misting with sweat. Luxurious bolts of pleasure rocket through him every time Bucky thrusts in and hits that wondrous spot, the one that shakes him to pieces.

He wonders why Bucky was even worried about coming too quickly, because he’s been undoing Steve for a while now, with no apparent inclination of slowing down. Steve likes it that way, despite the one hundred percent inevitability of his ass being sore tomorrow when sitting through the conference. _Fuck_ the conference, this is way better. He’s pushing back to meet every thrust Bucky makes, grunting with effort despite his best attempt to keep his damn mouth shut so his neighbors won’t get an earful.

His hopes of avoiding any outside detection are likely dashed though, when Bucky rams into him one last time and stays there, buried to the hilt and grinding against him. He comes with a short but fairly high decibel cry, gripping Steve’s shoulders like his survival depends on it.

“Oh God, Steve,” he then whispers, plastering himself to Steve’s back and clinging to him as his orgasm slowly wanes. “Fuck, that was so loud. Sorry.” 

Forgiveness for his sins seems pretty easy when Bucky wraps his hand around Steve’s rock hard cock and starts jerking him off, even as he remains buried in his ass. Bucky closes his fingers around him, thumbing once at the head before stroking him with long, firm passes. After a few slower paced ones, including a little twist of his hand at the top with each, he speeds up and makes Steve want to beg out loud for more, scream it if he needs to and to hell with his neighbors. 

Tipping his head back and sucking gulps of air in and out of his chest, Steve closes his eyes and lets out a long, drawn out groan. It’s just the right amount of pressure and friction, just the right amount of _Bucky_, and his body is ready to ignite. Pulses of fiery gratification make their way through his core and bloom outward, till he feels it in his toes. 

Before he knows it he’s coming in a torrent of hard spurts, all over Bucky’s hand and probably all over the bed sheet, too, but who gives a shit. He has to bite his lip to stop himself from making the same loud cry Bucky made and though he manages it, a high-pitched whimper does bleed through his parted lips. Bucky continues stroking him until his body relaxes and Steve sags back against him.

“You’re fucking amazing,” Steve says breathlessly to the man still half inside him and all the way spent. 

Bucky’s weight bears down on him solidly and Steve’s legs feel like jelly, too, so they both collapse weakly down and to the un-messy side of the bed, landing on their sides so Bucky is spooning Steve from the back. 

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he quips, and Steve feels him roll to dispose of the condom in the tiny waste bin at the side of the bed, then roll back and sling one arm over his flank. His fingertips stroke lightly over Steve’s chest. 

“Actually you were incredible,” he allows, kissing Steve’s shoulder and rolling away again. “Let me get you something.”

“Something” is a freshly dampened hand towel (warm, because Bucky is apparently worth his weight in gold) for Steve to clean himself up with. As Steve swabs at himself Bucky dresses, and while Steve sort of kind of wishes he would stay longer, that might make it more awkward later on, so he supposes this is a good time to part. They’ve got to be up fairly early tomorrow morning for the first day of the conference.

“I’ll see you tomorrow at the conference,” Bucky is saying as he slips into his shoes. 

Before he leaves he leans over the bed with his hands supporting his weight and gives Steve a peck on the cheek. It’s freaking cute as hell. Though they’re not boyfriends, in a weird way to Steve it still feels like it’s totally the right response, and he happily leans into it. 

“Yeah, see you tomorrow.”

\--  
Tomorrow finds Steve rushing around to get showered and out his door after sleeping through his phone alarm. He’d forgotten to check the volume and it was barely on, so he’d only woken up in time by chance when he had to pee. This he found unusual since he typically slept for shit in hotel beds. _Probably the sex helped_, he muses as he takes the elevator down to the lobby. Already he’s thinking about tonight and what his chances are of getting Bucky in the sack again.

He’s not really sure how he’s supposed to behave around the man, though, and doesn’t want to assume too much. By the time he makes it down to the conference hall there’s still a line of attendees all checking in, but it seems most people are already inside the hall. With a sigh, Steve takes his place at the back of the line. He’s probably going to get stuck sitting all the way up in the front row. Or God, worse yet, what if Brock expects they’re going to be sitting together and saves the only seat left for him? 

Mentally he kicks himself in the ass about thirty times as the line crawls forward. His excellent mood devolves into pure cantankerousness the longer he stands there. This conference is gonna _suck_. By the time he reaches the manned table at the door, he’s ready to call it quits and go hide in his room. But, being the good little employee he is, he signs in, takes the packet he is offered, and proceeds into the hall. 

With everyone here working for the same company, lots of people already know each other and the din of their conversations is pretty loud. There are probably a hundred forty to a hundred fifty people in the room—Jarvis has a LOT of branch offices. Long rows of tables are set up, with two chairs at each table, several across with a middle aisle left open. Many of the attendees are still standing, milling around or in line at the breakfast buffet set up on one side of the room. Steve’s stomach rumbles when he spies bagels, but he needs to get a seat first. Priorities. 

He makes absolutely zero effort to find Brock Rumlow. The only person he’s looking for he locates after a lengthy scan of the room. Bucky’s dark head is up just off the center aisle to the left, halfway toward the front. There’s an empty spot next to him, or it appears to be empty, but maybe Bucky is saving it for someone else? He might have another co-worker with him just like Steve does, and maybe that co-worker _isn’t_ an asshole. 

Pushing his trepidation aside, Steve walks up toward him anyway. Another man ahead of him seems to lean over and inquire about the empty spot; Steve watches Bucky shake his head and throw an arm up over the seat back. The other man moves on, leaving an opening for Steve to step in. As soon as Bucky sees him approach, a cheerful smile spreads across his face, and Steve’s heart flutters. 

“I was beginning to think you weren’t showing,” Bucky jokes.

Steve blows out a sigh. “Overslept,” he mutters, and rolls his eyes at the knowing look Bucky shoots him. He motions with his head to the empty spot. “That seat taken?”

He tries not to let his face fall when Bucky nods affirmatively, and knows he fails when Bucky then giggles. “It’s saved for _you_, dork.”

“Oh!” Steve’s face lights up like a Christmas tree. “I didn’t want to assume too much,” he explains as he scoots behind and past his handsome seat mate. He’s also very aware that there are a lot of other people within earshot, so he chooses his words carefully. “Just because we met last night doesn’t mean you wanna pal around all weekend.”

As he sits down and dumps his papers on the table in front of him, Bucky leans in closer, putting his mouth directly next to Steve’s ear to be safe from eavesdroppers. “We just fucked in your room last night,” he murmurs. “Why _wouldn’t_ I wanna pal around all weekend?”

A flush of satisfaction turns Steve’s ears pink, but he smiles all the same and settles in. This conference is gonna be _great_.


	4. Dangerous Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter I will go over in fine detail the hours and hours of engineer-speak during Steve and Bucky's conference. Not. During Steve's first day of his first Jarvis conference, instead we find him becoming completely captivated by Bucky. And that's _before_ he gets to spend the evening with him.

Chapter Four 

Seconds after Steve sits down he notices Bucky’s cup of coffee and dessert plate decorated with some danish crumbs, and his stomach growls again. He glances at the still-empty podium, the time showing on his cell phone, and longingly at the catering tables across the room. Following the direction his eyes are looking, Bucky hooks a thumb toward that side of the room and asks, “You hungry? Got a good spread over there.”

Steve nods. “Starving.”

Pushing his chair back, Bucky stands and briskly walks over with Steve to approach the food tables. Either his danish wasn’t enough or he doesn’t want Steve to feel self-conscious being the only person over there still grabbing grub. Steve actually _is_ self-conscious about it as they only have a minute till the conference is scheduled to get under way, but he’s desperate to get some sustenance, so screw it. Just as he is reaching for a plastic cup of cream cheese to go with his cheddar bagel, a familiar voice sounds off from behind him. 

“Finally. There you are. I saved you a seat.”

Brock. Sounding put out for no apparent reason. Did Steve ask him to save a seat? Hell no. Steve turns to take in his appearance. Hasn’t changed. Short, dark hair that stands up in the front, cheesy mustache, five o’clock shadow that is perpetually present, and a smug expression, also perpetually present. Did he come over here just to harass Steve, or was he coincidentally on his way back up toward the front of the room? He has paused, evidently waiting for a response, and although Steve would really prefer to ignore him he instead tries to affect a polite tone of voice. 

“Thanks, but I’ve already got one.”

Though Steve smiles as he says it, Brock still makes a sound of annoyance and narrows his eyes. “Well, if you don’t want it that’s fine, I just wish you’d gotten down here at a decent time so I could’ve given it to another friend.”

Pressing his lips closed so _“You don’t have any friends,”_ doesn’t slip out, Steve puts his plate down and reaches for a coffee cup, counting to ten in his head. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Bucky looking Brock up and down to appraise him, and by his expression not very favorably. 

“Oh, sorry about that,” Steve manages to get out in what he thinks is a civil manner. He picks up a pitcher of coffee labeled “caffeinated” and turns his back to dufus to signal that their conversation is over.

“Whatever. Makes no difference to me,” Brock whines, but he takes the hint and swaggers off, resuming his course to his own seat. Steve and Bucky cut across the rows of tables to return to theirs, laden down with coffee, bagels and cream cheese, and a couple of yogurt cups Bucky snagged for him. 

As they sit down Bucky whispers, “You work with that guy?”

“Knew him from automotive,” Steve whispers back, rolling his eyes to the ceiling.

“He always such an asshole?”

Steve smirks and nods as their first speaker steps up to the podium set up at the front of the room and the crowd quiets down. Bucky groans softly next to him and Steve turns his head to see why. Bucky’s eyes are on the speaker as he makes a soft request, “Kick me if I fall asleep.”

Raising his eyebrows inquisitively, Steve turns back to examine the speaker, a nondescript middle-aged gentleman in a white button down and red bow tie. He assumes Bucky has heard him speak at previous conferences, so how bad could he be, if he was invited back again? 

An hour later, Steve would beg to be kicked, punched, and/or generally assaulted just to have something interesting happen to him. He never knew one man could continue on in such a monotone, without ever breaking for air, for such an extended period. And he could never understand why speakers would make a PowerPoint presentation and then simply _read_ from it verbatim. Was there a less engaging way to communicate with your audience? 

He sneaks a peak over at the brunet next to him; Bucky’s eyes are drifting shut again, so Steve nudges his foot under the table with his own. The eyelids pop back open and Bucky mouths the word _”thanks”_ to Steve before shifting a bit in his seat and taking a sip from his glass of water. Steve shifts too, not because of sleepiness but rather because his derriere is just as sore as he expected it to be. How much longer till they break? Thankfully Mr. Monotone is wrapping it up and introducing the next speaker, a slightly younger man, also in a button down but with shirtsleeves rolled up and minus the tie. 

This presenter has a lot more personality and actually has some useful mathematical exercises for them to perform in their groups of two. As Steve is feverishly working the calculator on his cell phone, Bucky puts his pencil down.

“What’d you get?” he asks, trying to look at Steve’s paper. 

“Keep your pants on, I’m calculating,” Steve answers, head down. 

There is a suggestive chuckle from next to him. “What if I can’t keep my pants on, Steve?”

Shaking his head and stifling laughter, Steve looks up long enough to smile at Bucky, then puts his nose down to his paper again to finish his equation. They have no trouble staying awake for the rest of this presenter’s curriculum, all the way up until they take a ten minute mid-morning break. Conversations start again amongst the conference-goers and people get up to stretch, hit the food tables for seconds or go to the john. Steve stands up just to rub his aching butt, giving Bucky the finger when he smirks and asks if he needs a pillow. Bucky stretches but doesn’t stand; they are discussing the speaker’s main talking points when Brock strolls down the middle aisle, stopping at their table. 

His gaze is on Steve. “If you have any problem understanding the material,” he offers, “You can borrow my notes later.” As if he has done his duty, he moves on then without waiting for an answer. Privately Steve wonders how Brock even knew he was going to be there…shouldn’t he have been expecting Clint? Yet he didn’t seem surprised by Steve’s appearance. Either way, he’s completely sure he’s not going to be borrowing Brock’s notes. Later or _ever_. 

Bucky grins and shakes his head. “You want me to trip him on the way back up?” 

“Yeah, would you mind? I’d consider it a professional courtesy,” Steve replies in jest as he sits back down and they continue their analysis of the information from the last lecture. 

Bucky is _smart_ and obviously has his shit together; they’re both so engrossed in their conversation that they don’t even hit the food tables during the break. Brock doesn’t stop to chat on his journey up past them again. Steve catches sight of him after he strides by; he slaps Bucky lightly on the arm and points so he turns and sees as well. 

Steve pretends to glare at him as he turns his head back. “You had one job.”

Laughing, Bucky declares, “The moment wasn’t right.”

“The moment wasn’t right?”

There are crinkles around Bucky’s eyes that Steve wants to touch, reminding him of his continued attraction to the man, though he’s doing his best to keep things on a professional level while the conference is going on. 

Bucky’s smile is devious. “What if we toss him into the hot tub later and let him contract leprosy?”

Steve nods in endorsement of this idea. “That’s the spirit.”

-

Since they are taking only a short lunch break, food is provided to them by the hotel catering service. All they have to do is file into a smaller room next door for a buffet-style luncheon. Steve and Bucky stick together by tacit agreement, sitting together at one of the smaller round tables scattered throughout the space. During their meal, Bucky asks him what his plans are for the evening. His tone is casual, but all the same, Steve likes the fact that he’s asking.

“Don’t know,” he answers truthfully. “Never been to San Antonio.”

Bucky’s jaw hangs open slightly and his fork pauses on its way to his mouth. “So you’ve never been on the River Walk? To the Alamo?”

Steve shakes his head. In truth he had googled sight-seeing destinations in downtown San Antonio before he left home, but wasn’t really sure how much time he’d have, or how fatigued he would be after the conference was finished for the day. Or _grumpy_. But he can’t think of anything else he’d rather do than spend the evening with Bucky.

“What’re you up to tonight? Got plans?” he asks, trying not to sound too hopeful and shoveling some salad into his mouth.

Bucky’s blue eyes are centered on him. “Taking your ass for a walk to the Alamo, if you want to. You shouldn’t miss it while you’re here. We could get dinner after on the River Walk.”

Perking up, Steve swallows his salad and the lump in his throat. “Sure… that is, if you don’t mind…” he trails off, and Bucky looks amused. 

“I asked, didn’t I?” he returns, getting a grin out of Steve. 

“Yeah, you did,” he affirms, and tries not to appear as giddy as he feels. Sight-seeing and dinner? Followed by who knows what else? Yes please. 

\--

After the conference comes to a halt for the day, they both agree to return to their respective rooms to drop off their conference materials and freshen up, then Bucky will come down from his room on the sixth floor to pick up Steve at his. Try as he might, Steve can’t stop his wandering thoughts from landing on last night, and how he can secure a repeat performance. How he can get Bucky naked again, maybe get his mouth and his hands all over that sexy body. 

It makes him feel a tad guilty, how much he wants this stranger, if he can even call him that any more. He feels like he _knows_ Bucky already, and what he knows has only made both his lust and his appreciation for him grow stronger. It’s a dangerous game he’s playing and a portion of his brain knows it, for they are essentially still strangers, ships passing in the night. 

After the weekend is over both will go their separate ways, back to their separate lives. He can’t, he _shouldn’t_ get attached. It may be too late for that already, but the rest of Steve’s brain won’t acknowledge that fact right now. He’ll worry about that some other time. 

At Bucky’s knock he is ready to go, having taken a quick shower just to rinse off and change out of his conference clothes. Though it was hot outside earlier, now that it’s later in the day the temperature has cooled, so he’s wearing jeans and a polo. Bucky is similarly attired, only his jeans appear to be tailored to his exact measurements. They hug his ass like a second skin, making Steve’s mouth water and his pulse skip. As Steve exits his room and pulls the door shut, an older couple steps out of their room directly next door. 

The female, a plump but friendly-looking woman with strawberry blonde hair piled high on her head and two chopsticks artfully holding it in place, bats her eyes at Steve once and turns toward the elevator. Her husband eyeballs both Bucky and Steve with a stern expression before turning to follow his wife, and Steve gets the distinct impression their escapades last night didn’t go unnoticed. 

Bucky leans in and knocks Steve’s shoulder with his own, looking like he’s trying to hide a smile. “Maybe after dinner we could go up to _my_ room this time so your neighbors don’t complain about the noise.”

Steve blushes a furious red, even though _Bucky_ was the worst offender on that score. “Who’s fault is _that?_” he exclaims in a forceful whisper, and Bucky shrugs innocently with his palms up, as if to say _“who, me?”_ Steve smiles and shakes his head at his antics, but is quick to put a stamp of approval on his offer. 

“Yeah, sounds like a plan.” 

The fact that Bucky is already thinking ahead, and thinking about the two of them being alone together, elicits a thrill that surges through Steve’s entire body, and also allows him to be less shamefaced about his own lascivious thoughts. Is it still considered a one night stand if it lasts two nights? 

\--

The Alamo turns out to be, well, spectacular. Steve is something of a history buff and it turns out Bucky is even more so. He enthusiastically shows Steve all around the old structure and the grounds, allowing him to take his time and read each plaque set up to share its history, even though Bucky’s obviously been there before. 

After returning to the general area of the conference center, they descend a flight of stairs below the downtown streets to the impressive feat of infrastructure known as the River Walk. The fifteen mile man-made waterway is littered on both sides with shops, restaurants and the occasional bridge allowing pedestrians to cross to the other side. As the pair stroll along the walkway on one bank of the winding river and Steve takes in the lush landscaping and the sound of the flowing water, he also has to admit it’s pretty romantic. 

They aren’t there for romance, though, no matter if Steve’s daydreams take a sharp turn in that direction. After they’ve done a great deal of meandering, taking in the sights and watching the frequent tour boats motor past, Bucky asks him what kind of restaurant he’s interested in, since there are a ton of options to consider. 

“Uhh, I dunno, what do you recommend?” he flounders, open to whatever Bucky suggests. 

“How about a steakhouse? There’s a good one just about a quarter mile down from here.”

“Yeah, sure,” Steve agrees. “I could go for a steak.”

Bucky nods and makes a show of checking Steve out. “Yeah, sometimes you just want a nice big piece of meat.”

Groaning audibly, Steve gives him a push on the shoulder. “Oh, my _God_, are all your jokes that bad?”

Bucky laughs. “That’s about the highest taste level you’re going to get from me.” His self-deprecating tone shifts when he sees the sudden change on Steve’s face. “What is it?”

Steve is grimacing, because he’s just spotted Brock heading toward them from a bend in the path ahead, still about twenty yards off. With the crowd, he can’t tell if the man is alone or with someone, but either way he doesn’t want to have to discuss dinner plans with him.

“I need a place to hide so Brock won’t look at me,” he laments, but of course they have just exited a tunnel under a bridge and there are no shops at hand to escape to. 

Bucky’s face is thoughtful. “A major PDA would probably help with that.”

He dissolves into guffaws of laughter upon seeing Steve’s best mortified expression (not that making out with Bucky would be bad, but in _public?_) and it occurs to Steve that Bucky loves to laugh. And a laughing Bucky makes Steve want to laugh, too. His spirits haven’t been this high since that time Sam helped him reprogram the office coffee maker to insult people whenever they picked up the pot for a refill. He’s paying so much attention to Bucky, in fact, that he forgets about Brock’s approach completely and barely even registers the dirty look he is shot when the man passes them. 

After that, they find the restaurant Bucky mentioned and have a fabulous meal of prime rib, mashed potatoes and a vegetable medley. Not only is the food good; the conversation is excellent, and since they came in rather late and the restaurant isn’t too busy, Steve doesn’t feel guilty about lingering. More and more of his brain is going into denial mode, however, because Bucky seems more and more like a person Steve wants to keep in his life, and that’s just not possible. 

He is reminded forcibly of this while in the middle of a story about his love for downhill skiing. Bucky points at him with a look of epiphany and says, “Madison?” 

Steve’s reply is probably more telling than he means it to be, since he’s enjoying this game they’re playing. “Wisconsin? That’s so far…_north_.”

“Aha! So you know where Madison is…gotta be getting close then.”

Chuckling, Steve tries to play it off. “Maybe I’m just good at geography.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” 

The gleam in Bucky’s eye tells him he’s not buying that, so Steve changes the subject back to him. 

“You’ve never told me which office you work out of.” 

“I’ve been out in Cali since college, but it’s losing a bit of its luster, to be honest.”

“Why is that?” Steve is genuinely curious and ignores the pang of disappointment that strikes him when Bucky says California. So far away!

“People think the weather is great, but I actually miss the change of seasons. Plus the cost of living is so outrageous.” 

Steve can sympathize to a certain extent…he likes having different seasons, though he’d appreciate winters that didn’t threaten to result in frostbite every time you walked out your door. The two of them skip dessert and head back to the hotel. The walk back is even more romantic now that the sun has gone down. Tiny, white twinkling lights mark the paths and building outlines till they reach the stairs that lead back to the hotel. As they cross the lobby and step into the elevator, Steve presses the button for the fourth floor. Bucky cocks his head to one side in question.

“Gotta stop at my room for a second,” Steve states by way of explanation.

Once there, Bucky waits inside the door as Steve pops into the bathroom, swapping out his wallet from his back pocket to replace it with certain other items he’d hidden away in his toiletry bag. There are a few people congregated in the elevator area waiting to go down to the lobby as they approach, and one elevator door slides open to admit them. Once they’ve cleared out Bucky pushes the up button on the wall, steps back and reaches behind Steve, sliding one hand over his ass to feel for the lube and condoms he’d stuffed into his back pocket.

“Atta boy,” he murmurs. 

Though his eyes are forward on the indicator light for the elevator and not on Steve, he wears a pleased smile that tells Steve all he needs to know. After keying them into his room, Bucky flicks on a light and invites him to make himself at home. Stepping in toward the bed, Steve takes note of the carefully folded comforter laying on the seat of the desk chair. His lips purse in amusement and Bucky snorts, sitting down on the bed to take off his shoes. 

“I barely wanted to touch the damn thing to fold it up.”

Grinning, Steve sits down next to him and pulls off his own shoes. “I didn’t say anything!”

“Shut up.” 

“Wanna make me?” Steve challenges him, feeling frisky.

“Hell no,” Bucky returns in a purr, twisting his body to face Steve on the bed. “I’d rather hear how _loud_ you can get.”


	5. Mission Accomplished

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sexy times. One last night together for the boys and then they must part ways forever... or not! What kind of story would that be? Certainly not my kind, that's for sure. :-)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I know the tag says safe sex and that's mostly true...except for now. Slightly risky behavior. So sue me. ;-)

Chapter Five 

It’s really too bad they’re not in a villa somewhere, alone and separated from any other people, where they could be as loud as they wanted without concern for anyone else’s reaction or comfort. It’s really too bad they’re not at a tropical island resort somewhere together, where they could fuck all day and night and no one would know or care. That’s what Steve is thinking, anyway, as Bucky pushes him down onto his back and gets on all fours above him, leaning down to kiss him on the lips. 

Steve promptly rolls them both to get on top and returns his kiss, opening his mouth straight away and letting Bucky’s tongue press in demandingly. Bucky’s hand delves into his back pocket and pulls out the lube and condoms, plopping them down on the bed next to them before both his hands then migrate upward, slipping up under Steve’s shirt and over the bare skin of his back, dancing over his flexing muscles.

Holding his weight up off of Bucky, Steve lets him pull his shirt up and off, lifting one arm at a time to assist him. They have to break apart to work the shirt off over Steve’s head, but then immediately start to kiss again, hungry and desperate for each other. Once Steve’s shirt has been removed Bucky reaches down to unbutton and unzip his jeans. 

His hands are sure and steady, while Steve feels like his heart is going to pound right out of his chest. He _wants_ this so much it’s hard to put into words. As they continue their frenzied kissing, Steve turns his head more to one side to thrust his tongue deeper into Bucky’s mouth, craving the taste and feel of him. He’s hard already when Bucky jams his hand down inside his pants and cups his erection through his underwear.

“Steve,” Bucky rasps as Steve’s mouth makes its way down his jawline and to his neck, nipping softly at it before lavishing it with open-mouthed kisses. “I want you…I want you to fuck me tonight.” Surprised, Steve meets his eyes, alluringly dark with desire. “Would you?” Bucky asks, and his fingers give Steve’s cock a squeeze that leaves him breathless.

“God, yes,” he whispers, kissing him down under his jaw, nosing along the stubble of his beard. He’s never minded switching, it makes things more interesting. Fucking Bucky is not a hardship. The taste of him on his tongue is addictive, making him want to experience him _everywhere_. He paws at Bucky’s shirt like it’s some foreign object he doesn’t know how to deal with, and mercifully Bucky pulls it up himself and gets it off over his head, baring his torso for his partner. 

“Mmmm.” Steve can’t help the appreciative noises leaking out of him as he works his way down over the hollow at Bucky’s throat, down the center of his chest and over to one hard nipple, taking it into his mouth and sucking at it. The way Bucky’s hands fly up into his hair tells Steve he’s hit a sensitive spot, so he swirls his tongue around it a few times, just because he can. 

One hand winds its way into Bucky’s hair, pulling at it gently and eliciting a hiss from the brunet. Bucky holds Steve’s head to him and arches up into the contact, and Steve gives that nipple a few more wet kisses before moving over the other one to start anew. After he’s determined that nipple has been attended to sufficiently, his need to get his mouth on Bucky’s cock and suck him off properly is overwhelming. All he can think about is getting his lips around that thick length, and letting Bucky _know_ what he’s thinking about.

“I wanna go down on you,” he spits out. 

His voice is rough but confident; Bucky’s head lifts and he’s biting his bottom lip, looking so fucking sexy Steve can hardly wait to fill his mouth with him. “You clean?” Steve grunts, and Bucky nods.

“I’ll wear a condom if you want, though,” Bucky assures him, but Steve shakes his head. 

“I want you, not a rubber. Just tell me before you come.” It’s a risk but one Steve’s willing to take, and as Bucky undoes his jeans for him he licks and kisses his way down lower over his body. His abdominals are drawn tight since Bucky has his head lifted up, both to watch what Steve is doing and to open up his pants, and every part of his raised six pack makes Steve’s mouth water more and more. 

When he gets down to the soft skin below Bucky’s navel, that’s where he starts to lose it. His cock is so hard it’s already pushed its way up out of his open fly and is straining at the fabric of his boxer briefs. They need to be _naked_, right _now_. 

“Get these off,” he demands (nicely), pushing himself up to kneeling and shoving his own pants and underwear down over his hips. Bucky lifts his slinky little hips and pushes his pants and boxer briefs down as well, bending his knees up to get them off the rest of the way while Steve wrestles with his, eventually standing up next to the bed to shed them faster. 

Once they’re both naked he dives back down, pushing Bucky’s legs apart to get between them. God damn, Bucky’s thighs could bring him to tears, they’re so muscular and _thick_. He wraps his hands around them as he settles in and brings his eyes back up to Bucky’s to make sure he’s good. 

He’s _good_, mouth slightly open as he takes gulping breaths, lips kiss-bruised and wet-looking. “Christ, I’m so fucking hard for you right now,” he admits, fisting the sheet in his hands as he waits for Steve to take him into his mouth. 

He’s not lying; Steve will affirm that as the honest truth as he eyes Bucky’s cock and decides whether to use his tongue or his lips first. He goes with the tongue, licking his way up the underside of his shaft all the way to the tip. It’s wet, dripping a little at the head and Steve laps at it, enjoying the wrecked sound that comes out of Bucky’s mouth when he does so. 

He likes the heft of it against his tongue and wants more, so he closes his lips gently around the head, flicking his tongue into the slit and moving it in and out of his mouth just barely, almost imperceptibly. Bucky whimpers, a needy and beautiful sound, and Steve can tell he’s trying not to fuck into his mouth. He’ll let Bucky do that later on, he decides. For now he wants him still, wants to be in control of making Bucky lose control.

To that end he takes him deeper into his mouth, sliding down and sucking him with more gusto to keep him satisfied. Bucky hums his thanks and Steve sets himself to the task, moving his head in a steady rhythm and letting that gorgeous length slide in and out between his lips, slick with saliva. Fuck, it’s fantastic. He sucks harder now, guessing it won’t be long before Bucky gives him a warning shout out.

His head bobs up and down and Bucky’s hips move in time with him, almost delicately, like he doesn’t want to scare Steve off, like _that_ would happen. _To hell with that_, he thinks, and he’s done being in control for the moment. The only thing that could turn him on more than he’s turned on right now is for Bucky to use his mouth to get himself off. 

“Fuck my mouth,” he growls out, and swallows Bucky’s dick again. 

Without a waste of a precious second, Bucky’s hands dig into Steve’s hair again, holding him as he bucks his hips upward into Steve’s mouth, whining like it was the only thing he wanted to do all along. 

“Oh, oh fuck, oh Steve!” he bleats, pushing his rock-hard cock deeper into the warmth of Steve’s mouth. 

Steve can’t take all of him, but he takes as much as he can without choking, and loves it. Bucky thrusts in and pulls out, rocking his hips up and down, breath stuttering in his chest. It was no exaggeration when he said he was hard; he’s unbelievably hard and his dick feels unbelievably good sliding in and out of Steve’s mouth. He’s almost disappointed when Bucky pushes at his head to stop him, with a choked cry of “Gonna come.”

Steve releases him from his mouth and takes him in hand instead, jerking him off hard and fast. It only takes a few strokes and Bucky’s whole body stiffens up as he shoots off, hot all over Steve’s hand and his own stomach. The sound he makes, a guttural, elated sigh, is reward enough, but his _face_, that’s the icing on the cake. Watching his fluttering eyelashes and the way those pouty, red lips part when his head tips back to the ceiling, that’s the part that has Steve worrying about coming too soon.

He’s on his knees, fumbling around on the bed for the condoms and lube, while Bucky grabs at one of two folded up hand towels that had been mysteriously, helpfully placed on the nightstand (atta boy!) and cleans himself up. He’s eyeing Steve’s cock as he hands the towel to him and when Steve meets his eyes directly he sees lust mixed with hesitation.

“It’s been a long time for me, too…you might have to open me up first,” Bucky declares, and Steve’s just relieved that he’s not having second thoughts. Rather, he’s worried about comfort, because Steve is gifted in size in more than just the bicep department. He’s totally fine with going slow and totally fine with prepping Bucky first. Whatever it takes. He’s got lube on his hand anyway, may as well put it to good use. 

It takes a couple of fingers and more than a couple of minutes before Bucky takes Steve by the wrist, lifts his head from the pillow and tells him he’s ready. Steve is REALLY fucking ready. Like, so ready he could use his dick as a jackhammer ready. Blood is coursing through his veins at such a heightened pace it makes every movement and sound feel heightened, too. 

He’s actually thankful for the condom, because that will decrease his sensitivity enough (he hopes) to avoid shooting his load the moment he enters Bucky. Looking down and taking in the heavenly body laid out before him, his subconscious admits that’s a definite possibility. 

“How do you want me?” he gasps out.

“Like this,” Bucky nods once. “I want you like this. Wanna see your face.” 

Hiking Bucky’s legs up over his own, Steve moves in and lines up, groaning when the head of his cock touches Bucky’s hot skin. The condom does help, though, and he’s able to push in with little trouble. Well, depends how you define _trouble_. No trouble as far as having an orgasm too soon. Lots of trouble as far as almost having a heart attack because Bucky feels so magnificent inside. It’s all velvety softness, hot and tight, squeezing around him. Once he’s buried himself completely and is fully sheathed inside Bucky’s body, that’s when he could _cry_ with the intensity of it. 

What makes it even more intense is how Bucky’s icy blue eyes stay locked on his. He’s so beautiful, with all that smooth skin, the perfect features of his face, the toned muscles. How could one man be so fucking perfect? Steve starts to move, rocking his hips slowly at first, enjoying the friction against his cock in all directions. 

Bucky’s thighs feel strong and firm under his hands but he shifts down, gripping his butt more to get a better angle and to be able to push with more strength, because that’s the name of the game. He wants to pound Bucky into next year, until they’re both shaking and crying and can’t remember where they even are. His speed increases, as does the sharpness and brute force of his thrusts.

God _damn_, it defies the laws of physics, how exponentially his pleasure increases with each plunge he makes. He’s driving his hips hard, grunting with effort, and Bucky reciprocates with small gasps mixed with whimpers every time he is penetrated. His hands fly to the headboard behind him, bracing himself so Steve can come at him like a battering ram.

Eventually he winds up leaning more and more forward till he drops his hands down on the bed on either side of Bucky’s shoulders, with Bucky bent up underneath him like a yoga instructor demonstrating his flexibility. And as long as they’re _that_ close to each other, they may as well be kissing. He mashes his lips to Bucky’s, moaning into his mouth in ecstasy. 

As hard as Steve is fucking into him, it’s not so much a kiss as just trying to keep lined up with each other enough to push their tongues inside each other’s mouth. Bucky lets go of the headboard and wraps his arms around Steve, holding his head to him, and they’re both shaking like leaves. It’s frantic, and superb, and how could he _need_ one man so much so fast? 

His climax is tearing through him now, having come on in one explosive second, without warning. Or maybe it was just that his pleasure level was already so high, he couldn’t discern when the moment approached. Pulses of tingling, orgasmic bliss fire their way through him from head to toe in a never ending loop and he throws his head back with a loud groan, grinding his pelvis against Bucky’s ass. 

“That’s it, baby, come for me,” Bucky whispers, stroking through the hair at his neck with one hand and gripping his arm with the other. “I want you to come so hard inside me.”

Mission accomplished. Steve’s legs and arms feel weak as a kitten’s and his breaths are ragged and uneven as he comes and comes. He continues grinding against Bucky, more feebly now that his energy has been sapped, relishing the last vestiges of his orgasm. He kisses Bucky again, more gently, just soft presses of their lips together, slow and sweet. 

It’s the best sex Steve has had in _ages_, and it doesn’t end there. Once they’re cleaned up they lie together on the bed with the sheet pulled up over them. Bucky is on his back and Steve is on his side, pressed up next to him so their bodies touch in a myriad of places. Bucky’s arm is behind Steve’s head, wrapped around his shoulder, and Steve has one arm thrown over Bucky’s stomach. 

After they’ve rested a bit they go for round two, and then round three. Steve fucks Bucky a second time and then sits on his cock, riding him until they’re both so tired and spent that they can hardly disengage from each other to lie down. It’s only then, when they’re sweaty and satiated and thoroughly exhausted, that they fall asleep together, bodies intertwined in a mix of arms and legs, kissing until they both drift off into dream land. 

\--

Steve wakes to the soft strains of the Imperial Death March, since that’s apparently what Bucky’s alarm plays. The sound is coming from somewhere on the floor where Bucky’s pants were tossed. It’s still mostly dark but with enough weak daylight coming in through the gaps in the curtains to be able to see. Steve is on his stomach, drooling into one of Bucky’s pillows, while his bed mate himself is on his back next to him.

“Mmmmppff,” Bucky says, turning toward Steve and the music. “Could you please grab that for me?” He holds up a hand, pointing at the other side of the bed.

“Sure,” Steve agrees and rolls over toward the edge so he can reach down for the lit up screen of Bucky’s phone, peeking out of the pocket of his crumpled up jeans. He rolls back and hands it over, and Bucky promptly shuts it off. 

“At least you won’t be late today,” he jokes and drops the phone onto the mattress. “Shit, did we both fall asleep?”

Steve rubs his eyes sleepily. Yep, he’d fallen hard asleep and didn’t wake at all again during the night. Definitely had to be the sex. “Sorry ‘bout that,” he tells him through a yawn.

Sitting up, Bucky shakes his head. “Don’t be, I’m not sorry you stayed,” he explains, and Steve’s heart beats a little faster. Bucky stretches his arms up over his head and arches his back to stretch his sore muscles. “I’m just surprised neither of us woke up before now. I usually don’t sleep well in hotel beds.”

“Me either,” Steve mumbles in assent, still trying to wake himself up. He feels sluggish but forces himself to push up into sitting as well. Bucky’s right, he’ll have plenty of time to go shower and get breakfast today.

“Wanna meet downstairs for eats?” Bucky hasn’t moved yet, he’s just sitting there regarding Steve in the semi-dark of the room. 

“Yeah. ‘Bout thirty minutes?” Steve suggests as he throws his legs over the side of the bed and stands. 

Thirty minutes will give him enough time to shower, shave and pack up his stuff. His flight home is tonight after the conference ends, so he’s planning on leaving his suitcase downstairs in the lobby’s holding area. He already knows Bucky is leaving tonight as well, since they had discussed it yesterday. 

“That’ll work.” Bucky gets up as well and comes around the side of the bed to help Steve find his clothes, which were also on the floor all night. 

Steve is pulling on his pants when Bucky locates his shirt, hands it to him and sits down on the bed again, wiggling in place. 

“Damn, my ass is sore. Good thing you like to switch so we can both be incredibly uncomfortable today,” he quips, and Steve chuckles dryly. 

“I have Ibuprofen.”

Bucky’s white teeth flash in the dark. “I’ll take half a bottle. See you in a bit,” he adds, as Steve has his feet shoved into his shoes. 

“Yep, see you.”

Before he heads for the door, he leans over and gives Bucky a swift kiss on the cheek. _Tit for tat_, he thinks.

\--

Bucky is already down in the conference hall when Steve arrives, having checked out of his room, stored his bag, and verified the shuttle bus time back to the airport in the evening. Everything seems in order, but he needs to remember to check in for his flight later on his cell phone app. He’s been too preoccupied with getting laid to do it before today. 

The room is only about a quarter full. Sliding into the seat next to Bucky, Steve eyes the food tables. There are two uniformed hotel workers still setting things up over along the wall, and another setting glass cups down at every table for the conference participants. Silently Steve watches for a moment, feeling his lip curl but not realizing he’s doing it until Bucky asks him what’s wrong. 

“Do you think they have straws around here somewhere?” Steve asks instead, looking around half-heartedly and thinking he’s probably shit outta luck on that score. 

“Probably not. Why?” Bucky looks around curiously too, not noticing what Steve sees as a problem. 

“That catering guy who’s putting out the glasses…he’s touching them all at the top, where you drink from, with his _bare hands_, instead of at the bottom.” 

“So you’re saying you’re pretty particular where your mouth goes, is that it?”

Steve’s lips purse. “I’m incredibly particular where my mouth goes.”

Bucky affects a smug expression. “Thank you.”

Too concerned with the state of cleanliness of the glasses, Steve is only half paying attention to what he says, and asks offhandedly, “What?”

Bucky grins. “Oh. I thought you were paying me a compliment.”

Steve laughs out loud. “I guess I was.”

When the hotel staff finish and clear out of the room, Bucky and Steve hit the breakfast buffet. Every minute or so, Steve looks around the room and by the door, worried that Brock will come in, see the empty seat next to him, and take it. 

After the umpteenth time he cases the room, Bucky states, “You’re worried about that asshole sitting next to you, aren’t you.”

Steve nods glumly as they carry their spoils back to their table and sit down. 

“Just tell him that seat is taken and show him your mean face. Show me your mean face.”

Steve bares his teeth and bends his fingers to make them look like claws, and Bucky hoots with laughter. Steve’s brain likes the fact that he can make Bucky laugh so freely, but doesn’t admit to that. 

“That’s the cutest mean face I’ve ever seen,” Bucky claims. “Want me to trade places with you?”

Steve shakes his head. “I doubt that would be a deterrent, and I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Okay then.” Bucky picks up a bowl of fruit he had picked out and plops it down at the empty spot next to Steve, reaching over him to do so. Then he crumples up a napkin and sets it down next to the bowl. “Voila, now that spot is taken!”

Steve shoots him some side eye. “You know, you’re pretty smart.”

Bucky shrugs modestly. “On occasion.” 

They finish breakfast without any Brock sightings or incidents and the conference hall fills up. The rest of the scheduled day flies by and before Steve knows it, it’s almost time to leave. He’d checked in for his flight during their lunch break, which gave him the perfect excuse to ask Bucky what time he had to take the shuttle bus back to the airport. Turned out, their departure times were fairly close and both would be taking the same shuttle. Yay!

Steve couldn’t deny the jump his pulse took when he found that out, though the rational side of his brain insisted that postponing the inevitable wouldn’t make it any easier. Sooner or later, he and Bucky were going to have to part ways—at the hotel or at the airport, one or the other. Still, the longer they were together, the better, or so claimed the irrational side of his brain. 

The two of them, plus many other conference-goers, are seated in the hotel lobby after the completion of their day, waiting for the shuttle bus. Bucky is teasing him about taking one more shot at guessing his branch office before they get to the airport when the hotel concierge approaches them and announces the bus for Delta and Southwest airlines. 

Bucky stands and then looks askance at Steve, still sitting. Steve stands and looks at Bucky, then at the concierge. “What about American Airlines?”

The concierge points outside the lobby doors. “Sir, American moved into the second terminal, so their customers go in the shuttle with Spirit, coming up just behind the first one.”

He turns away from them to announce the bus arrivals to the other occupants of the lobby, leaving Steve and Bucky alone, staring at each other. Bucky looks as confused as Steve feels. 

“I didn’t realize American and Delta were in different terminals now,” he says, somewhat dazedly.

“I didn’t realize there _were_ different terminals,” Steve replies, sounding every bit the inexperienced flyer that he is. 

Other travelers stand, grab their gear and begin heading outside for the shuttles. Steve and Bucky just stand there, an invisible force field holding them in place. Steve doesn’t want to move. It’ll take a few minutes for everyone to load up, right? What’s the hurry? He’s slightly panicked as he looks around at the emptying lobby. 

Bucky tugs the back of his shirt until he focuses on him again. “Come on, race you out,” he jokes, leading the way.

Steve follows behind, stopping when Bucky grinds to a stop outside in between the two buses, staying back away from the others as they load up. It’s all wrong. This. He thought he’d have way more time to say good-bye. He thought he’d have way more time to prepare himself, to talk himself into being okay with saying good-bye forever. Nervously he looks at Bucky, his mind going completely blank as to what he should say.

They should have had two more hours together going through security and waiting around for their flights. Now it’s NO time, and he’s gotta get on a bus and never see Bucky again. _It was just sex_, that terrible, awful, rational part of his brain is saying. _You don’t have a relationship with him. You have to let him go._

The pain in the pit of his stomach tells Steve not to let go, but he pushes that down, down so it doesn’t leave him feeling like an idiot. What did he think was going to happen, Bucky would sweep him up in his arms and profess his undying love, after one weekend? Ridiculous. _Get it together, man._

“Well, I guess this is it. It’s been a pleasure,” Bucky is saying, and Steve knows he’s reading too much into his expression, seeing sadness in his eyes that isn’t there.

“Same here,” he manages to respond, feeling like his tongue is thick and uncooperative, dreading these next words. 

Bucky takes a step closer to him. “You planning on coming to the conference again next year?” 

Steve swallows the lump in his throat. “I hadn’t…until now.” 

Bucky is standing so close, Steve can sense his body heat. It would be so easy to close the distance between their lips, to ask for just one more kiss. But he doesn’t.

Leaning in so his mouth is near Steve’s ear, Bucky whispers a promise. “I’ll save you a seat.” Then he looks away, down at the ground to grab the handle of his suitcase where he’d parked it.

“I’d like that,” Steve says softly as Bucky stands straight again. He meets his eyes and holds out his hand. “Good-bye, Buck…and good luck to you.” 

Bucky shakes his hand, gives him a sweet smile and touches his forearm, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Au revoir, Steve.”


	6. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve spends some time kicking himself in the ass for letting Bucky go and a whole lot more time pining for him in secret. Then out of the blue Bucky reappears, and Steve's simple life is about to become anything but.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: yow, part of the text got eaten up somehow, sorry about that! If you noticed a weird part, it’s fixed now!

Chapter Six

Steve’s trip home is pretty shitty, between his mounting sensation of remorse and the old guy sitting next to him on the plane who sneezes all over him. Like, really dude, ever hear of covering your mouth? After watching Bucky climb up into the shuttle and disappear, he’d thought of ten different things he wanted to say; things he should have said, but didn’t. He didn’t get to tell him he wished they had more time together. He didn’t get to reveal the city he lives and works in. He doesn’t even know Bucky’s last _name_, for Pete’s sake. 

Sitting on the shuttle, he scrolls through his contacts over and over. No Bucky. No Hot Guy From San Antonio. No Best Fuck I Ever Had. How was that even _possible?_ Thinking back, there was never really a time they needed to text or call each other- they were together almost the whole weekend. He can’t find him that way. He knows Bucky works in a branch in California, so his next move is to pull up the internal staff directory for Jarvis employees, all branches. He looks through the Light Manufacturing names, growing increasingly frustrated. Clearly Bucky is a nickname for something, but what? None of the names he sees lends itself easily. 

He shuts off his phone with an annoyed push of his thumb and frowns. If he actually found Bucky, what would he do with the information? He hasn’t the foggiest. Contact him? And say what? Hey, I know we only hooked up for sex, but I really felt a _connection._ How desperate, how stalker-ish does _that_ sound? Instead he swallows his disappointment and makes his way home. 

Steve sits in his crappy middle seat on the airplane and replays his last moments with Bucky in his mind over and over. The trip takes _forever_, but at last they arrive. Landing at O’Hare, one of the busiest airports in the country, leaves him feeling on-the-edge-of-his-seat nervous, but they hit the tarmac without incident and taxi up to the terminal only slightly behind schedule. From there it’s easy to get the Blue line back to downtown, and Steve settles into a window seat _alone_ and unharried with a relieved sigh. He stares out the smudged glass pane at the nighttime Chicago skyline, fast approaching as the train barrels down its tracks. 

_Home._ It’s good to be home, back where everything is familiar and the people he cares about are close by. Steve has family all around the city in different suburbs, but he’s the only one who lives downtown. He loves his apartment and its proximity to both work and Millenium Park, where he can indulge in his love for jogging. His apartment building has a work-out room, but when weather permits he’s usually outside in the early mornings, happily pounding the pavement. 

Except maybe for this time of year. Steve shivers a little, though there is some sort of hot, dry air blasting out of a vent nearby. He hadn’t taken a coat with him to Texas, not wanting to weigh down his carry-on luggage, and March in Chicago means two things. It’s cold and it’s wet. Especially now that it’s late at night, not sunny and bright like it was when he’d left town. Poor planning on his part, he reflects as he exits the train and hoofs his way down the block to his building.

Finally he makes it home, pushes through the door to his bedroom and strips, falling into bed naked and snuggling into his down comforter in exhaustion. He doesn’t bother setting an alarm—Tony gave him the next day off to recuperate, knowing how late it would be when his flight landed. He drifts off into slumber with visions of Bucky filling his head. Whether this signifies sweet remembrance or haunting regret, only time will tell. 

\--

~Ten Months Later~

“Come on Rogers, you in or not?”

Turning his blond head, Steve regards Sam, humming uncertainly. Natasha bounces in her desk chair impatiently, red hair flying. 

“C’mon, Steve, come with us! It’s gonna be fun!”

Sam lifts his eyebrows expectantly, and Steve folds. “Oh, alright, I’ll come.”

Natasha claps her hands, Sam flashes a bright smile, and Clint drums excitedly on his desk. 

“Excellent,” Sam crows. “So that’s, what, eight?”

They’re planning a game night to see the Blackhawks play, and though hockey isn’t Steve’s favorite sport (football is better, but the Bears suck and their season has been long over), he ordinarily wouldn’t hesitate to go out on the town with his friends. Lately though, he’s been in the doldrums and hasn’t been feeling really social. Publicly he blames his attitude on post-holiday blues, but privately the story is much different. 

Privately…Steve is kinda lonely, and his loneliness is compounded by the fact that the next annual Jarvis convention date is approaching, reminding him on a daily basis how much he misses Bucky’s presence in his life and how he _could_ see him again, but won’t. He’s spent the last ten months trying unsuccessfully to forget about the lovable, adorable, unforgettable brunet. 

He’s been on a few dates, even had a short relationship with some okay sex, but it just left him feeling flat and unfulfilled. It’s not the fault of his dates that he mentally compares them to Bucky the entire time. No one measures up. Not even _close_. The fact that Bucky is completely unavailable to him apparently means nothing to his brain, nor his heart. 

He can’t count how many times he’s thought about him, or dreamed about him, or wished the two of them were together, but when he had received an informational email about the conference and asked Tony about attending, he was told not to worry about it.

”Steve, I wouldn’t make you do that again,” Tony had reassured him. “Barring any food poisonings, broken limbs, or emergency dental surgery, Clint is keen on going this year so you don’t have to.”

Only, Steve does want to do that again. In front of Tony he’d tried to cover his disappointment so he wouldn’t have to explain himself, and once he left Tony’s office it was difficult not to look so dejected that someone else would be tempted to ask what was wrong. His boss thinks he doesn’t want to go, and that’s partially Steve’s fault. After he got back from last year’s conference, he’d never told anyone about Bucky, much less how important Bucky was, so of course Tony assumed he would be averse to attending this year. Last year was only a _favor_, after all. 

It’s a quandary. That food poisoning idea, that could be doable…Clint _does_ eat his lunch two spots down from him every day…privately he shakes his head, laughing at his own misery. There will be no meeting up with Bucky again this year. No blue eyes, no smile, no one to make him light up on the inside like a pinball machine. 

_Nothing._

All of this is in the back of his head as chatter about game plans goes on around him. At least with a group activity, he won’t have to worry about Nat or Darcy trying to fix him up again. They seem to love setting him and the other single men in the office up on dates with their own unattached friends, acquaintances, neighbors, and pizza delivery guys. In fact, they’ve been wringing their hands in distress over Steve’s lack of interest in _anyone_ lately, but he keeps Bucky as his own secret. It’s all he has. 

“What was wrong with _that_ one, Steve?” Darcy had wailed, after finding out he had stopped seeing the caterer she’d introduced him to. 

Steve had merely shrugged and bent his head to his work. It was really the only thing he had going on in his life that interested him at the moment.

\--

Game night came and went. The San Antonio conference came and went. Steve purposefully did NOT ask Clint for any details of his time there, not wanting to dredge up the memories that still seemed so fresh and the regret that had only grown stronger in a year’s time. Work was still his number one distraction, even more so when Tony had announced to the group that their department was being awarded a new contract, one involving design and production for multiple robotics applications on a factory line. 

“This is a _huge_ deal,” he had proclaimed at their last monthly staff meeting. “So big, HR is actually looking into adding a position to our department for it. This is all hands on deck, people.”

Everybody’s ears had perked up in interest at that detail. A new position? Instantly the atmosphere went from the usual snooze fest right up to a bombshell drop, and Tony was peppered with questions from all sides. 

“Do you get to select the new hire?”

“Is this an internal posting or external?”

“How soon? You _know_ how slow HR is…”

“Can we train whoever it is ourselves?”

“Automotive isn’t going to get first dibs on a hire after they’re trained, are they?”

Tony had held up his hands for quiet, then made ticks with his fingers as he rattled off answers. “HR will take applicants. We get peer interviews with the top three candidates. The posting is internal to Jarvis employees first. It’ll only go external if they can’t find anyone suitable within the ranks, yes, we get to train whoever it is, and yes, we get to keep him or her. Automotive can kiss off.” He paused for a breath and smiled. “This has been fast-tracked, so we should expect some news within a few weeks to a couple of months.”

Steve had looked at Sam, seated next to him, and he looked back, lips pursed to form a silent “oooh”. Usually an open position took _months_ and months to get filled. Their new contract had to be big if the bureaucratic wheels had started turning already. Even so, they only half-expected their human resource department to come through for them. Since when did they ever do what they said they would do? 

So Steve had been surprised when the three best candidates were quickly brought in for peer interviews, and surprised again when a job offer had been extended to one of them. He hadn’t been present for the interviews—he and Sam had been off getting in some end-of-season skiing that week—but Thor and Natasha were, and sounded very positive when they spoke about their favorite candidate. This happened to be the same candidate selected by Tony, and by HR. Not someone internal to their branch who had applied (like Brock, ewww!), but a Jarvis employee relocating from out of state. James Barnes, whoever he was, seemed to be universally liked all around.

This same James Barnes was due come in this very morning to begin orienting into their department. Steve wasn’t privy to the timetable but he’d heard the scuttlebutt that it was going to happen sometime before HR’s group training for new employees started. The women are _particularly_ excited, so Steve assumes the new guy must be something of a looker. As long as he’s not an asshole about it, Steve’s cool with that. Whatever. What matters is how good he is at his job, not how many tongues will wag when he steps into the room.

While the ladies may be salivating, Steve’s got bigger fish to fry; he’s eyeballs deep into an algorithm he’d been revising for ages. Of course it’s when he’s concentrating on a particularly tricky part that he hears Tony call out his name. Holding a finger up in the air, he doesn’t take his eyes off his computer screen as he stalls for time, trying to finish his thought before being interrupted. Unimpressed, Tony calls his name a second time, and out of his peripheral vision Steve can see the vague outline of figures standing next to his desk.

“Keep your pants on, Tony, I’m calculating,” he says absently.

“What if I _can’t_ keep my pants on, Steve?”

Steve’s eyes are still glued to his numbers when he hears the response...but something’s off. It’s not Tony’s voice, but it’s familiar. Familiar in the same way you know the smell of cookies baked by your mom, even if you haven’t been home in a long time. This voice has the same effect on him. It’s warm, and comforting, and instantly fills Steve with happiness in a way he can’t even explain to himself.

_Now_ Steve looks away from his computer. “Bucky!” he practically yells out, smiling.

“Bucky?” Tony repeats, mystified.

“Hi, Steve,” Bucky says, also smiling as he shoves his hands into his pockets shyly.

“Steve.” Tony repeats again, and though his confusion is almost comical, Steve and Bucky both ignore him completely.

Steve hauls himself up to standing and faces the newcomer. “What are you doing here?”

“I work here now. What are _you_ doing here?”

“I work here, too.” 

The smile on Bucky’s face has enough watts to light up the Atlantic seaboard. “I didn’t know…my next guess was going to be Albuquerque.”

Tipping his head back, Steve allows himself to laugh. _God_, he’s missed this. He wants to reach out and hug the man in front of him, but doesn’t quite have the guts. “I had no idea James Barnes was you,” he declares, his own smile so wide it makes his cheeks hurt.

Tony, who had been looking back and forth at them in bewilderment, holds up a hand between them. 

“Hold up. What is happening here right now?”

Turning to his boss, Steve picks the short story to tell. “We met last year at the conference in San Antonio.”

Out of the corner of his eye he watches Bucky’s face, but it’s not giving anything away. Bucky’s _here._ In this city. In this building. Next to him! How did this _happen?_ He can’t wait to get him alone to talk to him. But wait, was he not supposed to say that they knew each other? What if he fucked up? He needs to talk to Bucky to see where his head is. 

Understanding floods Tony’s face upon hearing Steve’s explanation. “Well then, great! I don’t even have to introduce you two,” he says crisply, turning back to Bucky. “Now why in hell is he calling you Bucky?” 

“Nickname,” Bucky replies, nodding gamely. “Not something I usually lead with during interviews,” he adds, addressing Tony’s inquisitively raised eyebrows. 

Shit! Steve bites his lip. Maybe Bucky didn’t want that nickname to be used here. Did Steve fuck up? He _needs_ to talk to Bucky. 

Tony chuckles. “Alrighty then,” he says, and turns toward the other end of the room where Thor, Stephen, and Darcy are congregated around a computer terminal. Everyone else is in the playroom. 

Bucky lingers a moment before following Tony. “Catch you later, I hope?” His eyes are full of questions and Steve guesses he shares the same expression.

“We usually eat lunch in here,” he blurts out, knowing employee orientation takes a similar lunch break before continuing on in the afternoon.

“Okay then,” Bucky says with a smile and turns away to go meet his other new co-workers.

His hair is a little longer, the stubble on his beard a little shorter, but he’s still the same gorgeous Bucky, and Steve’s reaction to him doesn’t change. Delight mingled with attraction and curiosity. Mentally he wills his racing heart to slow down as he plunks himself back down into his chair. Focusing on his work again is near-impossible, though, so after a few fruitless minutes he gives that up as a bad job and goes to find Sam and Natasha. 

They are running a simulation in the playroom as he sidles up next to them and calls out a “hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Sam returns, and Natasha beams at him. 

“Did you meet James yet?” she asks, green eyes twinkling, and slaps Sam’s arm when he groans out loud.

“Here we go,” he teases. “All the ladies in the joint, about to lose their shit over the hot new guy.”

Hesitating for a split second, Steve does some fast calculations. He’d already told Tony he and Bucky met, so that cat’s already out of the bag. But he doesn’t plan on sharing any other details, certainly not without talking to Bucky first. 

“Well actually…” he starts, and both Sam and Natasha swing their heads in his direction. “We met last year at the convention in San Antonio.”

“What?” Natasha cries out in surprise. “Then why didn’t you tell us when we were interviewing him? You could’ve given us the scoop on him!”

Shaking his head, Steve crosses his arms in front of him. “I only knew him by his nickname. I didn’t know his full name, or that it was him interviewing. Not till today.”

“What, Jimmy Barnes was too unrecognizable?” Sam rags, and Steve rolls his eyes at him. That cat’s already out of the bag, too, so he supposes it can’t do any harm to tell them.

“No, smart-ass. His nickname is Bucky. I called him Bucky.”

“Bucky Barnes?” Natasha trills, clapping her hands. “That’s adorable!”

“You mean you think _he’s_ adorable,” Sam goads her, but she flashes him a nonplussed smile. 

“I don’t _think_, I _know_, darling,” and here Steve underestimates her enthusiasm, because she’s practically getting up into his lap, pawing at him for information. “So come on then Steve, since you know him, give! What’s he like? Is he single? Did you get along at the conference?” She’s like an eager puppy, bouncing around waiting for a treat to be thrown her way. 

“Yes, jeez, Nat, down woman!” Steve fends her off, laughing. “We got along fine, but I haven’t talked to him in a year. I don’t have the personal details of his life.” 

_Plus there’s no way in hell I’m telling you we spent two nights together in San Antonio_. 

There’s a heavy feeling in his chest when he thinks about Natasha, or any of the women he knows, pursuing Bucky, and a flash of guilt when he realizes he’s _jealous_. He wants Bucky for himself, but in actuality Bucky can see whoever he damn well pleases, whether it be Nat or Darcy or anyone else. Mentally he’s berating himself for being a possessive dick and only half takes in her next words. Something to do with her and Darcy wanting to get those personal details pronto. Sam is giving him a funny look but doesn’t ask, and Steve knows he’s going to be in for an inquisition later. 

He _really_ needs to talk to Bucky.


	7. Friends Don't Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky come to an agreement about where to go from here, but Steve's friends are pretty astute. Sam is already onto him, and Natasha has her own ideas. He's not sure how long they can be kept in the dark, or even if he wants to keep them there. But Bucky's idea has merit, too, so he goes along with it willingly. Steve may have a weakness for doing whatever Bucky wants. He can only hope that's going to include crazy, hot sex...and soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this update took forever, so sorry about that. Life, whatnot. You know. And yes, I brazenly stole the chapter title from Stranger Things. Because I LOVE Stranger Things.

Chapter Seven

By the time lunch rolls around, Steve has been thinking about what to say to Bucky for hours and is incredibly nervous. It would have been so much easier if he’d talked to him right off the bat, without having time to psychoanalyze everything and then fret about it. Now he _has_ been psychoanalyzing, and fretting. Major fretting. At first, he couldn’t _wait_ to be alone with Bucky. But what if Bucky doesn’t feel the same way? What if he’s embarrassed by their tryst and wants to pretend it never happened? Steve’s been pining for him for a _year_, but that hardly means Bucky’s been pining, too. 

To him, Steve could have been just a one-night stand. Technically, two nights, but whatever. He can’t hold that against him. He can’t expect Bucky to share the same emotions he has. Maybe they’re just going to be co-workers. Friends, if he’s lucky. And THEN Steve starts to consider the implications of them being co-workers now. Initially that thought made him giddy with delight…until he looked at it from Bucky’s perspective. 

Here he is, coming into a new office with a lot of new people to meet and form working relationships with. Maybe he won’t want to complicate things by jumping into a dating situation right way. Or at all. Or even have it be public knowledge that they hooked up last year. Would Steve want everyone to know about their previous relationship if that was him and a bunch of strangers? Maybe not. Maybe Bucky will want to keep that private. Would his co-workers even care one way or another? Maybe, maybe not. That’s a whole lot of maybe’s, and Steve figures the least he can do is check in with Bucky first, see where his head is on all of this newness. 

That means he has to wait. He just doesn’t know how long yet. Can he keep their relationship under his hat? He doesn’t want to _lie_ to anyone… just leave out some details temporarily. His motor had stalled at that point in his ruminations. He had been revved up pretty high, hopeful that perhaps the two of them could pick up where they left off, but that might not be in the cards. And now he’s nervous, trying to figure out what to say, how to act, how not to sound like he’s mooning over Bucky like a complete dork. 

The door to the office opens and Steve almost jumps out of his seat, he’s so skittish. It’s just Bruce and Scott, coming back in from the cafeteria with some food. Steve lets out a slow breath. He was so preoccupied with his thoughts he hadn’t even realized it was past noon, so he hops up out of his chair, heading out of their door and into the kitchen just down the hall a bit. It’s a shared space between them and another manufacturing division, with the usual kitchen accoutrements and a large rectangular table with a dozen chairs around it. 

The table doesn’t actually get used much for eating, since they all prefer to eat at their desks, and Steve barely gives it a second glance as he rounds it and yanks open the fridge door to pull out his lunch. After popping his leftover Chinese take-out into the microwave to heat up, he’s standing idly by when he hears a sneeze from out in the hallway. 

“Bless you,” he calls out to the unseen sneezer, and his stomach lurches when Bucky steps into the doorway, smiling. 

“You always bless random strangers you hear spreading germs in the hallway?” he teases, and Steve’s heart skips a beat. 

He _remembered_. He remembered Steve has a thing with germs. “Hate the sin, not the sinner,” Steve jokes and nods in a perfunctory fashion, already searching his brain for a non-idiotic way to start the conversation he wants to have. Why does Bucky have to be so good-looking and so personable that it reduces him to a quivering mess? This would be a lot easier if he didn’t want to start up a relationship with the man, or spend every minute with him, one or the other. He takes an initial stab. 

“How’s orientation going?” (No point in diving right into it, right?)

“Great. I now know the location of all fifteen emergency exits from the building.” Checking the hallway behind him, Bucky taps at the doorjamb with his palm and steps further into the room toward Steve with an apologetic look on his face. “So, look, I don’t wanna have to dance around the subject all day, so why don’t we just get it out in the—”

“Nobody knows,” Steve blurts out, and Bucky approaches him more closely, blinking slowly. 

“Okay,” he says slowly. “Well, I meant it when I said I wouldn’t regret you. I don’t.”

“Oh, FUCK!” The words burst out of Steve and he’s immediately flustered. “That’s not what I meant! I mean, I don’t regret it either, not a single bit. I just…kept it to myself.” He fidgets in his spot and blinks back. He doesn’t know how to say Bucky was so special that he didn’t want any of his friends thinking of him as something as trivial as a one-night stand…he doesn’t even know if he _should_ say it. He can’t have Bucky thinking he regrets their time together, though. That’s just completely unacceptable. 

Bucky seems to take his words in stride. “Do you want to keep it that way?” 

“I want you to be comfortable here,” Steve replies honestly. “So I’ll do whatever you want to do.” The microwave dings and he ignores it in favor of taking Bucky’s appearance in more fully. The eyes. The mouth. The _muscles_. He’s still as heartbreakingly breathtaking as he was in San Antonio. And it doesn’t feel awkward talking to him, like it would if Bucky was embarrassed by what happened between them a year ago. Instead it feels good, just as good as it did when they first met.

“I appreciate that,” Bucky is saying, and he leans against the kitchen table in front of Steve with a lopsided smile. “I don’t know what it means, but I appreciate it.” 

Steve lets out a snort and peeks around Bucky to make sure no one else is around. So much for not sounding like a dork. “It means, I was thinking if I was the new guy coming into a new job, maybe I would want everyone to get to know me without any…preconceived notions.” 

Surprise touches Bucky’s handsome face. “That’s very thoughtful of you, thank you.” He pauses and tilts his head. “Are preconceived notions likely?”

Steve’s mouth falls open a little. “Well…I don’t think so,” he admits. “This group is actually pretty open-minded, and we’re all close. They’re great people,” he adds, feeling love for his co-workers, and also some hope again. This is going better than expected. 

Bucky nods slowly. “Still, you might be onto something. I don't want to lie, but it isn't anybody else's business either. And it might be worth it in the long run for us to develop a relationship as friends and co-workers first, without any…distractions.”

Hope dashed. Steve was really counting on some distractions, but Bucky does have a good point.

“You’re right. You’re completely right,” Steve agrees, then rubs the back of his neck wistfully. “But, those distractions sure were…fun.”

Bucky gives him that smile that sets his pants on fire and leans toward him, shifting his weight from one foot to the other before responding, “I mean, I’m not saying there can’t be…fun…in the future, just not right now.”

Steve’s chest feels hot. No fun right now, but not for _forever_. Can he do this? Keep his desire under control? “So then, let’s just keep everything between us for now?” he reiterates.

“Yeah, let’s do that,” Bucky nods and pauses a beat. “Is that okay with you?”

Steve nods. How could he say no to that face?

“Hey, Steve?” Bucky’s tone is soft, and it makes Steve smile a little. 

“Yeah, Buck?”

“I’m really happy to see you again.”

Instantly Steve’s heart swells about four sizes. “I’m happy to see you, too. This is gonna be good. And you’ll love it here.” He nods and Bucky smiles back at him. 

“I think so, too. Now get your smelly Chinese out of the microwave, it’s making me really hungry.”

Steve laughs. “Wanna go down to the cafeteria and get some lunch? I’ll go with you.”

The beautiful smile returns. “Great. I have no idea where the cafeteria is.” 

\--

While they eat lunch, Steve with his left-overs and Bucky with a club sandwich and salad he picked up in the cafeteria buffet line, Steve asks the big question he’s been wanting to ask all morning. 

“So how did you end up _here?_”

“This is home,” Bucky says simply. As Steve stares agog at him, he explains. “I grew up in Chicago. My parents and sister still live here. When I heard there was an opening, I thought it was a sign for me to leave the west coast.” His fingers curl around the bun of his sandwich as he picks it up. “Little did I know, _you_ would be here.” He shakes his head. “That, I didn’t anticipate. My _actual_ next guess was going to be Kansas City.”

He takes a bite of his sandwich and munches. Steve observes, “Small world,” and pauses as another thought strikes him. Fortune favors the bold. “If you’d known, would it have changed your mind?” 

Without missing a beat, Bucky licks his lips and says, “No, I would’ve come sooner.”

Steve’s chest buzzes with pleasure. Bucky is smiling at him and Steve can’t quite tell if he’s kidding or not, but being the eternal optimist, he goes with not kidding. They seem to be having a moment here—Bucky’s blue eyes are focused completely on his, and Steve’s stomach is doing some complicated gymnastic moves inside his abdominal cavity. He’s just about to confess that he tried to find Bucky in the company directory after the conference when—

“Whatever Steve is poisoning your mind with, it’s completely false. I have NEVER hidden his computer mouse inside a bowl of jello,” Sam exclaims with a wide smile as he pulls out an empty chair from the table and plops down into it abruptly. “Mind if I join you?” His smile is both devious and genuine, if that’s possible, and he shows it to both Steve and Bucky, looking from one to the other as he makes himself comfortable and sets a tray loaded with food down in front of himself. 

“You may,” Bucky returns with a laugh. “Sam, right?” he correctly identifies the dark-skinned man, who nods back at him energetically.

“The one and only, baby,” Sam responds, then turns his attention to his best friend and the lunch fare in front of him. “Jesus, Steve, what is _that_? Smells terrible.”

“What? Does not,” Steve protests, leaning over his plate to give it a whiff. “It smells like Chinese food!”

“Like I said. Gross.”

_Oh, right._ Sam, being the pickiest eater alive, is not a fan of most Asian cuisine. Or Mexican. Or Thai. Anything really tasty, in Steve's opinion.

“You two met already, I take it?” he asks, inclining his head toward them both. 

“Yeah. Told him I’m known as the good-looking one in the office,” Sam teases, and Bucky chuckles dryly. 

“Everyone else IS pretty hard to look at,” he jokes and nods in a way of one person commiserating with another.

“I know, right? I’ve never seen such an ugly bunch. ‘Specially Rogers here.” Sam flashes his spectacular toothy grin as Bucky laughs and Steve just shakes his head, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. Should have known Bucky and Sam would hit it off immediately, since they’re both first class smart asses. 

From there the conversation turns to where Bucky is from, and Steve gets to hear all of his background he didn’t know already, with the added benefit of Sam being the nosey one asking all the questions. After they finish eating they part ways, as Bucky has to go back to orientation. Sam and Steve walk back to their office together, and it only takes Sam two seconds after they lose sight of Bucky down another corridor for him to spin and proclaim, “Alright, spill. You’re not telling me something.”

Steve’s eyes widen. “Sam, I… I can’t. I can’t tell you.” He just agreed to keep their secret. He can’t let Bucky down _now._

“You _can’t_ tell me?” Sam’s eyes are even wider than Steve’s. “Are you two planning a corporate takeover?”

Steve lets out a sputtering breath and laughs. “No.”

“So my job is safe?”

“Yes, Sam, your job is safe.”

“Oh, alright then,” Sam jostles him in the ribs with an elbow as they stride down the brightly-lit hallway. “Guess I’ll leave you alone. For now.”

Steve graces him with a thankful smile. 

“Don’t think I’m not watching you, though,” Sam adds, giving him some side eye. 

“Yes, ma.” 

That earns him another, sharper elbow in the ribs.

\--

The first two weeks aren’t too bad. Tony keeps them all incredibly busy with prep work for their new project, plus they have to hand off their old assignments to staff members of a neighboring department, so most of the time Steve doesn’t even have time to think about drooling over the new member of their team. 

By the third week in, however, Steve’s lusty thoughts start outweighing his non-lusty thoughts by at least a fifty percent margin. Bucky proves to be smart, and funny, and sexy, like he was in San Antonio and MORE, and so goddamn irresistible it makes Steve _ache_. He’s still kept his word and hasn’t told anyone their history. That’s been the _easy_ part. The not-so-easy part is trying to think pure thoughts whenever he looks over and sees Bucky in the office anywhere. Could be any part of him—a flash of bicep, a thick thigh encased in khaki’s, a razor-sharp cheekbone. Whatever. 

Those eyes, though. They’re killer. Bucky got placed at the empty desk directly across from Steve, so while the long counter with all their robotic junk piled on it separates them physically, they are still close enough to easily hold conversations with each other. And of course, he can secretly check Bucky out from behind by pretending to futz around with parts and whatnot on the work surface in the middle of the room. Whenever Bucky turns around and their eyes meet, Steve suddenly has difficulty remembering how to breathe. 

It’s one of those such times, when for all appearances Steve is working on something at the counter behind his desk but in actuality is staring at the back of Bucky’s head and having a lovely fantasy about sliding his hands over the naked skin of his chest and holding his body to him. Natasha rolls her desk chair over next to him and calls out over the island, “Hey, Bucky, any luck with the search?”

Search? Steve interrupts the private, clothing-free scene in his head to swivel and look questioningly at the redhead, then at Bucky. 

Meanwhile his desk neighbor turns away from his computer screen, shaking his head with a distinctly forlorn look on his face. _What’s this all about?_ Steve is thinking when Natasha smacks him on one shoulder lightly with the back of her hand. 

“Steve, do you know where Bucky is living right now?”

“No!” Steve answers, perhaps a little defensively. “Why would I know that?” He looks from Nat to Bucky and back to Nat. Did she just x-ray his brain and see his filthy thoughts? Does she know they slept together? That Steve _wants_ to get into Bucky’s bedroom again?

Natasha, however, isn’t actually paying him any attention whatsoever. “He’s staying with his PARENTS!” she cries out, as if this is the worst thing she’s ever heard in her life. 

“He’s what now?” Steve frowns a bit. Steve loves his parents, but he doesn’t want to live with them. And anyway, he could have sworn Bucky told him at one point he had rented out an apartment in South Loop, not far from where Steve lived in the Loop. 

“I’m not carrying my bike up to a fourth floor walk-up,” Bucky laments, frowning.

“What about that other one, the one in Streeterville?”

“WAY too expensive for what was offered.”

Steve feels more lost. “What about the apartment you rented? I thought you rented one already.”

Bucky’s frown deepens. “Turns out they didn’t allow pets, so I gave it up.”

Nodding, Steve searches his memory. “Cat. You have a cat.”

“A feline diva deigns to share her living space with me, yes.” Bucky’s voice gives away the affection he obviously feels for his cat. 

“And you haven’t found another one yet.” 

“No.” Bucky’s expression is even more glum. “Good places are hard to find!”

“Oh, I know. Took me like five months of searching to find mine. It was _awful_,” Steve tells him, straight-faced. That’s a lie, but worth it to see the look of horror on Bucky’s face when he thinks about living with his parents for five months. After a moment passes, Steve can’t keep himself from cracking up, though, and Bucky puts on a second, pouty look that’s equally as hilarious as the first. 

“Kidding,” Steve confesses. “Only took a couple of weeks.” 

Steve’s mother works as a realtor and had helped him out a lot when he was looking, and as he reflects on this, he feels Natasha’s eyes settle on him. He can almost hear the wheels turning inside her head. It hadn’t taken her and Darcy long to find out that while Bucky was single, he wasn’t into girls. After their initial disappointment wore off, it had taken even less time for them to decide that he and Steve would make a cute couple. 

Steve had played dumb, not wanting to give away the whole show, and changed the subject whenever it came up. It was times like those he went and sought out Wanda, with whom he could have a nice nerd-oriented conversation about Star Wars or quantum physics, and she didn’t give a hoot if he was dating a man, a woman, or a carrot. 

Furtively he looks around now to see if he can spot Wanda, when Natasha pipes up. “I have a great idea—Steve can help you look, Bucky. His mom is a realtor.”

Oh yeah. She knew that. Her expression is innocent, helpful even, but he sees right through it. She’s _match-making_ again. Still, when he turns and sees the interested expression on Bucky’s face, he forgets all about not blowing their cover. Any attention he gets from the gorgeous brunet is good attention. 

“Your mom is a realtor?” Bucky repeats, and Steve nods.

“Yeah, she could help us...if you want,” he adds. “She gets listings early sometimes, too.”

Bucky looks _awed_ at this news and nods with his hands steepled together like he’s praying. 

“Yes please. I love my folks, but I need to get _out_ of there.”

“Well, okay then! Tell me what you’re looking for, and I’ll get the info to my mother.”

“Okay, thanks!” 

Bucky looks ecstatic; the smile the spreads over Steve’s face is involuntary, as is the heat that creeps up his neck. Spending more time with Bucky? Abso-fucking-lutely, he can do that. Natasha pinches his leg under the table and he smacks her hand away when Bucky isn’t looking. She looks inordinately pleased with herself, and Steve has to remind himself that he and Bucky are merely seeking an apartment for him alone, not playing house together. 

Natasha rolls her chair back toward her own desk, throwing a hushed _“You’re welcome”_ at Steve on her way past.

“Shut up, Nat,” Steve whispers back, glancing in Bucky’s direction to make sure he’s not paying attention. Fortunately Bruce has come over to talk to him about something, so the coast is clear. “It’s not a _date_. We’re not dating,” he insists.

“You shut up. You know you want to.”

Her eyebrows are waggling suggestively and Steve gives her wheeled chair another push, sending her giggling back to her desk space. He looks back at Bucky, now in the middle of an animated conversation with Bruce, and tries to ignore the pang of desire in his chest. Natasha is more right than she could possibly know, but Bucky hasn’t given any indication that he’s changed his mind about their current agreement. 

Now what?


	8. What's Next

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky settles into the work routine at Jarvis. Steve sets about the task of helping him find an apartment. The search isn't over, but they do make another discovery in the interim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm still here! Happy holidays to all. I've seen Knives Out, Star Wars, The Mandalorian, the latest seasons of Jack Ryan, The Expanse and Lost In Space, and am currently working my way through The Witcher. Picard starts next month. What a great time to be alive!

Chapter Eight 

“How important is parking?”

Bucky shakes his head and calls over his shoulder, “Not necessary, but nice.”

Steve consults the phone in his hand again, and the list of questions his mother had sent him to help narrow the search for apartments. “What about wi-fi?”

Snorting, Bucky turns away from his computer screen to look at Steve, seated at his desk. “Is that even a serious question?”

Laughing, Steve texts into his phone as he answers the question himself. “Very important.” He looks up again, eyebrows raised. “Carpet or wood?”

“Not picky,” Bucky responds with a shrug of one shoulder. 

Making a show of texting again, Steve makes a loud proclamation of, “Wood,” and smiles when Bucky tips his head to the ceiling and gives him a long, drawn out, “Steeeeeeeve.” 

“I’m looking out for your health here. Carpets trap dirt and allergens, Buck,” he teases. Well, partially teases. Carpets are _gross_.

Next to him, Clint guffaws, “Don’t worry Bucky, Steve already told his mom the apartment needs to have a chemical sterilization room and haz-mat suits readily available in the lobby, so it’ll be about seven hundred years from now when she finds you a place. At the CDC.”

“Ha-ha,” Steve fires back. “I checked, their rent is too high.”

His mother was fine-tuning the search now, but had already come through like a champ, having found some places for them to check out over the coming weekend. Technically Steve didn’t have to be there, but Bucky had asked him if he wanted to come so he’d jumped on the offer. Time away from work with Bucky? Hell yeah he’s on board!

That wasn’t until the weekend though, and they had the rest of the work week in front of them. Tony had already split them up into teams to prepare for their new project, with each team taking on different tasks. Steve had been thrilled to be put onto a team with Bucky, Thor and Darcy, because that meant extra group meetings for the four of them.

They’d had three team meetings so far, which had worked out marvelously. Not only did he get to spend extra time with Bucky and get to know him more than it had been possible to in San Antonio, but the whole team got to see firsthand just how wickedly smart he is. Darcy and Thor had both already made mention to Steve individually how impressed they were with Bucky’s insights and work ethic. 

Darcy’s appraisal, of course, had included a few other observations as well, delivered with typical Darcy flair. Earlier that day she’d been leaning over Steve’s desk, munching on salted cashews she’d pinched from the open bag on it, and swinging a leg nonchalantly as she offered up her opinion. 

“Bucky finished that material estimate for me super-fast, Steve. And have you noticed what a fine ass he’s got?”

Her grin and expectant expression indicated she was waiting for an answer, which Steve did not feel obligated to give. 

“Try’na work here, Darce,” he’d mumbled, attempting to look like he had NOT indeed relished the appearance of Bucky’s terrific ass on more than one occasion. 

“Play coy all you want, but you’re not fooling me,” she’d purred, a knowing expression on her face. 

At first he’d wondered if their secret had gotten out, but no one seemed to guess the truth so far; the comments were all centered around the _possibility_ of Steve and Bucky being a couple, not their past history. More than one member of the office, though, had joined in on the match-making efforts of Darcy and Natasha, and that made it even harder for Steve to keep his thoughts off of his sexy new team member.

His other co-workers might be more discreet than the ladies are being—or in Thor’s case, _think_ they are being more discreet about it, yet failing spectacularly. It’s times like these when Steve secretly hopes Bucky will change his mind and decide that banging Steve really IS the best idea around. 

Times like this morning and Thor’s almost daily abuse of RIC, the office gopher system. With their new workload, he has a good deal of extra communication to share with both Steve and Bucky. Sometimes that communication takes place in the form of emails, sometimes face to face (which Steve just happens to prefer when Bucky is involved), and sometimes through the use of RIC.

At the moment the three foot tall, wheeled, humanoid-shaped robot (after all, they do build humanoid forms, just not all the time) is barreling toward him, lights flashing and motor whirring. The bot is equipped with an empty abdominal cavity that can carry parts, documentation, or whatever else needs transporting when the sender doesn’t want to bother getting up. The name had actually been coined a few years back by Thor, who loved to use the robot more than anyone. He’d taken to calling it the “Robot In Charge”, and the nickname was born. 

Every desk has a “summons” button that can call RIC to it. Thor’s thumb is never more than an inch away from that button, or so they all teased him. Steve had worked it out fairly early on that Thor has been “accidentally” programming RIC to bring information or equipment to him, when it really should go to Bucky. He couldn’t count how many times he’d had to pass things along to Bucky he’d received via the robot.

Not that it’s a bad thing, having to do that, but the effort is a little transparent. RIC slows and comes to a halt next to Steve’s desk, pinging his normal greeting to him. Steve opens up the hinged door to the abdominal cavity and peers inside. 

“Hey Buck,” he calls out as he plucks up the part inside and pulls it out. “Got that part you were waiting on.” 

Looking up, he catches sight of Bucky as he swivels in his desk chair, running a hand through his hair simultaneously. A spike of lust lodges in his chest when Bucky smiles at him and holds his hand out, taking the proffered piece of tech from him gratefully. 

“Does Thor not like me, or does he just not know how to program RIC correctly?” he asks suspiciously, looking down at the part in his hand like it might decide to bite him.

“He’s just dumb,” Steve teases, grinning. That’s about as far from the truth as he can possibly get; Thor is bloody brilliant when he wants to be, and they both know it. 

“I thought so,” Bucky tosses back sardonically. “Too bad he’s such an asshole, too. Poor thing doesn’t have much going for him at all, does he?” 

Steve snorts. As big and hulking as Thor is, he’s actually more like a soft, squishy teddy bear on the inside and about as nice as a person could be. “Honestly, I don’t know why he hasn’t been fired already.” His heart stops momentarily when Bucky bites at his lower lip in that sexy way of his, glancing down at Thor’s end of the work room and then back to Steve.

“Seriously, what’s with the deliveries then?”

“Seriously?” Steve’s eyebrows shoot upward. Does Bucky not know that the matchmakers are out in full force? That the women in the office had already given up trying to sway him to their side and were now fully installed in the Steve-and-Bucky-should-date camp? And that they had recruited others to their cause? 

Bucky’s face changes to one of understanding as he observes Steve’s reaction. “Ohhhh,” he breathes, nodding. “Do they…?”

Steve shakes his head, picking up on his meaning. “They don’t know anything from me.”

Bucky nods back, mirth filling his eyes. “I see. Darcy and Nat _have_ been rather obvious, but I didn’t know they had enlisted reinforcements.” 

While Steve is glad Bucky isn’t upset by this, he’d like to know more about how he actually feels. Before he can think of a way to ask, Sam, Clint and Natasha return from one of their team meetings. The different groups had taken to having some sessions in the adjacent kitchen so they could sit at one table with a laptop or two when brainstorming, rather than pulling their chairs up to one desktop and crowding in. Sam pats RIC on the head as he sits down at his desk.

“What’s up, buddy?” 

RIC’s eyes light up as he utters one of his standard responses. “I am functioning within normal parameters.”

“Alright, that’s my man,” Sam responds with a grin. 

Giving RIC a glance filled with recognition and then turning to Sam with a smile of his own, Bucky asks, “Who’s the Star Trek fan?”

“You, apparently,” Sam retorts and leans out of his chair, holding up his coffee mug. He’d been the one to program that response in, actually, and he never tired of hearing it, or having someone else recognize the source material. 

In solidarity Bucky picks up his mug and reaches across the center island to clink it against Sam’s. “Live long and prosper,” he jokes.

“Cripes, you two wanna get a room already?” Clint cracks, settling down in his own chair. “Nerds.”

“Shut the fuck up, Barton,” Sam scoffs, plopping back down himself rather loudly. “You wouldn’t know good science fiction if it walked up and bit you on the ass.”

Steve rolls his eyes and braces himself for yet another unending debate to start between Sam and Clint about the merits of Star Wars versus Star Trek, but is saved when Darcy and Wanda enter the room.

While Wanda starts heading back to their desks to set a tray of snacks down, Darcy bounces over close to Natasha’s desk, clapping her hands together in excitement. “You’ll never guess who we saw coming back from the cafeteria?” 

Natasha looks up, interested. “The hot guy from security?”

“The hot guy from security!” Darcy gushes back, at the same time Clint and Sam groan.

“What hot guy from security?” Steve wants to know, looking around, but clearly Clint and Sam have already heard an earful about the subject, because Sam is waving his arms wildly for him to stop and Clint has his head in his hands, shaking it back and forth.

“Don’t get her started!” he exclaims, but Darcy is already off.

“Oh my God, you haven’t seen him yet? He’s new, and just, oh my God, the most beautiful man you’ll ever meet.” She’s practically blushing, and tucks her dark hair back over her ear as she spins to face Steve. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a man who was _that_ attractive looking.”

Bucky chortles softly. “Did she just call us all ugly?”

“That’s what I heard,” Steve agrees, laughing and enjoying the true blush that spreads furiously across her cheeks.

“That’s not what I…come on, guys, you know what I meant!” Darcy protests, her brown eyes wide, but it’s too good an opportunity for the rest of them to pass up.

“When will the paper bags for us to wear over our faces be distributed?” Sam asks merrily.

Clint teases back, “Right after Tony brings in the dog houses and collars.”

“So THAT’S why there were Milkbones on my desk this morning,” Bucky adds, grinning widely.

“Oh, stop it!” Darcy pouts, but there is a smile lurking in there somewhere, and she receives no help from Natasha, who is laughing so hard she can hardly keep her seat. 

Wanda, likewise, is giggling down at the other end of the room and calls out, “Come on, Darce, back down here before you get yourself into even more hot water!”

After having a good laugh, they all get back to work and Steve doesn’t think anything else about the exchange until the next morning. The weather that day is dreadful, with pouring rain and a dark sky, enough to put anyone in a foul mood. Upon arriving at his desk, however, Steve spies a newly typewritten note attached to his computer screen. When he looks around, there are identical notes taped to the computers of Sam, Bucky, and Clint. Printed on baby blue paper with fluffy, white clouds scattered throughout, they all read in a loopy and ornate cursive font, “I am beautiful. I am worthy. Darcy’s opinion doesn’t matter.”

Hooting with laughter, he pulls the note down and waves it in Bucky’s direction. “Did you do this?”

The answer is fairly obvious, since neither Clint nor Sam have gotten into the office yet, but Bucky shrugs mysteriously and answers, “Maybe?” with a grin. Sam and Clint’s guffaws of laughter when they find the notes are fun to watch, but the best is when Darcy straggles in, carrying a giant umbrella and wearing her black and white polka-dot Wellington boots and a black raincoat. She hates getting wet as much as a cat does. 

As she passes by Sam’s desk she stops in her tracks, pushes the hood back from her head and leans in to read his note. “You guuuuuuuuys!” she whines, hands on hips, and tosses her head when they all laugh in response. “Hmmff,” she huffs and retreats to her desk. He’s ninety percent sure she’s not really mad, and his suspicion is confirmed a couple of minutes later when he sees Bucky over at her desk and her giving him a little hug. 

When Bucky returns, Steve asks, “You make nice with Darcy?”

Leaning over the island on his elbows, Bucky chuckles and smiles. “She knows I’m just messing with her.”

“Well, I’m keeping the note up for those days I need affirmation.” Steve taps his note, now tacked up onto the wall behind his computer station. They all have photos, notes, and other odds and ends all decorating the walls at their stations. All except Bucky, that is. His wall is still devoid of anything personal. “I see you haven’t really decided if you’re staying yet?” he teases, shifting his eyes over to Bucky’s desk, and the brunet turns, not realizing at first what Steve is referring to. 

“Oh.” His cheeks flush. “I just haven’t gotten around to putting anything up there yet.”

“You could at least put up a picture of your _cat_.”

“Yeah, I need to bring some stuff in,” Bucky agrees, nodding his cute-as-hell head. 

Steve squashes down the desire to see a picture of him and Bucky up there, arms thrown around each other’s shoulders and mugging for a camera. Internally he sighs as he turns back to his work. _Fuck, you’re hopeless._  
\--

Two days later and the wall behind Bucky’s desk is still vacant, so Steve decides during lunch one day to screw with him. After printing off pictures of a large and scary-looking spider and a landfill spilling over with garbage, he is taping them to Bucky’s wall when Sam drifts over in his desk chair to see what he’s doing.

“What’re those?”

“I told Bucky he should at least put up a picture of his cat and he hasn’t yet, so I’m fixing his wall for him,” Steve announces, and Sam snorts. 

“Where is he right now?”

“Cafeteria.” 

“Well shit, let me help!”

Sam rolls back to his own computer and Steve hears his fingers tapping on his keyboard. And maybe a devious chuckle or two. What Bucky may not have realized yet is that Sam is actually an evil genius. Most of his energy is focused on Clint—the two have been pranking each other in the office for years—but occasionally he gets in on gags for other people. Birthday surprises, etcetera. It’s maybe his favorite part of work, when Steve thinks about it. 

He’s trying to think of more gross stuff to print off (a sink clogged with hair? Telephone receiver that hadn’t been sanitized in forever?) when Sam returns, clinging to some pieces of paper. Giddily he shows Steve printouts of Pennywise the clown, a hippopotamus giving birth, Mr. Burns from _The Simpsons_, and a headshot of _Tony_.

“The fuck? You are so strange,” Steve says, but helps Sam tape them all up on the wall. 

“That’ll teach him for not sharing his private life with us,” Sam jokes, sitting back to admire their handiwork. 

Bucky comes back up from the cafeteria with Thor, Bruce and Stephen in tow, and doesn’t notice the new adornments on his wall because apparently there is a hot new topic to discuss. 

Thor makes the announcement as he crosses the room. “FYI teammates, I made a bet with Bruce and Stephen that we would be the first to complete our project. Who else wants in?”

Immediately Natasha turns from her desk and Sam throws a hand up in the air. “ME!” they both shout, which is probably a good thing since they are both on the same team, along with Clint and Wanda, who weren’t present at the moment. Likewise Peter and Scott, the other members of Bruce and Stephen’s team, were out of the office, but that wouldn’t stop any of them from plunging ahead. 

“We’ll destroy you!” Thor hazes, pointing at them both.

Sam and Nat throw back various insults, such as “You wish!” and “In your dreams, loser!” 

“Let the epic battle begin!” Thor exclaims in an exaggerated fashion, throwing both arms up to the sky and dropping them like he’s at the start of a car race. 

Bucky leans in across the island towards Steve and observes dryly, “That escalated quickly.”

Steve giggles in return and whispers under his breath, “Nat and Sam are the most competitive people I’ve ever met.”

That was maybe another thing Bucky hadn’t discovered about them yet—they would bet on ANYTHING in that office. There were the obvious choices, like March Madness and NFL football games, and then there were the not-so-obvious ones. Death toll in _Game of Thrones_? Sure. Who wins _The Bachelor_? Definitely.

Natasha rubs her hands together. “What are we betting?” 

Thor shrugs his big shoulders. “Losers buy winners lunch?”

Bruce pipes up next. “But we’ve got three teams.”

“Winners get lunch on two different days from both losers,” Natasha posits, and everyone agrees to that.

Bucky grumbles good-naturedly, “Guess we’re gonna have some late nights.”

“Got that right,” Steve grumbles back, not that he’s really worried. They’ve got this in the _bag_, no question. But would he agree to extra time with Bucky anyway? Yep. Every day of the week and twice on Sunday. 

\--

Saturday morning Steve, his mother Sarah, and Bucky have plans to meet at the first apartment complex on the list. The weather has perked up significantly after a few very rainy days and there’s now nothing but crystal blue skies and a mild temperature. Steve walks the two blocks from the train stop to the building they are seeing in good spirits. He hasn’t told his mom much about Bucky other than him being a friend from work who’s just moved back after being away for some time. She didn’t press for more information because she was cool like that, yet secretly he hopes she likes him.

When he arrives precisely on time, his mother and Bucky are already in the lobby, chatting. Both smile when Steve pushes through the heavy glass door, so he takes that as a good sign. Bucky is wearing form-fitting jeans and a grey polo that clings to him like Steve wishes he could. The grey hue of the fabric makes his eyes look even more ambiguously stormy, but his smile is warm as Steve approaches. 

“I see you two have already met.” 

He gives his mother a big hug and she kisses him on the cheek before replying in a sunny voice, “Yes, we were just discovering some mutual acquaintances, so to speak. Do you remember Mr. Anderson who worked with dad all those years at the plant?”

Steve searches his memory. “Older guy, mustache, smoked a lot of stogies?” 

Bucky breaks into a toothy grin. “That’s him. My uncle on my mother’s side.”

“No kidding?” Steve says in surprise. “How is he? Must be getting up there in years by now.”

“Still alive and kicking,” Bucky affirms, stepping out of the way as a group of people suddenly spill out of the elevator bay nearby and troop noisily toward the exit. “Had to give up the stogies when he developed emphysema, though,” he elaborates as they make their way over to the open elevator doors.

“Shall we?” Sarah gestures inside and leads the way, punching the button for the fifth floor. The building is on the older side but well maintained, and the elevator rises smoothly and silently on its trip upwards. “This is a two-bedroom unit I’m showing you. Pets allowed,” she adds, nodding toward Bucky. His mouth had opened and he must have been about to ask that exact question, because it shut again wordlessly. 

The apartment is smallish but nice and Bucky doesn’t dismiss it out of hand, but also wants to see what else is available. They walk to the next place since it is only a couple more blocks down. This one is a new construction high rise, very modern-looking building with lots of glass and metal in the structure. As they approach and Bucky’s eyes drift upward taking it all in, he gives Steve’s mom a worried glance. 

“I did mention my budget, right?”

She laughs gaily. “I wouldn’t bring you if it was outside your price range, dear. I wanted you to see it because the building does have a lot of amenities, including an enclosed dog run, but it _is_ a studio.” She gives him a second look. “We can skip it if studio’s aren’t your style.”

“Hmm,” Bucky ponders that for a moment. “I did say one bedroom’s were okay, so I’m willing to look.” 

The expression on his face is doubtful and Steve sympathizes. His mother had shown him some studio apartments as well when he was looking and it just wasn’t for him. He much prefers to have his bed separate from the area guests would be hanging out and eating Cheetos in. They ascend to the ninth floor and while Sarah fiddles with the lockbox on the door, Steve whispers to Bucky, “Don’t like studios?”

He lifts one shoulder. “Not my first preference, but we’ll see.”

They enter the empty space and Steve draws in a breath. The ceilings are high, probably 12 feet, and one wall is glass from top to bottom, with a spectacular view of the surrounding downtown area. But it’s _small_. Small doesn’t even begin to cover it, actually. Miniscule is more appropriate. Room enough for a couch and coffee table, and a bed, but really not much else. 

But the _view._

There is a tiny kitchen that Bucky migrates towards, with an island and two barstools separating it from the rest of the boxy space. He stands, running one hand over the smooth marble countertop and looking out the giant windows. He looks deep in thought and Steve takes advantage of the opportunity to appreciate his full appearance, from the brooding eyes to the long legs and broad chest, and everything in between. _Fuck, you’re hot._ The words spring unbidden to his mind, and are difficult to dismiss.

Footsteps echoing on the hardwood floor draw his attention away as Sarah makes her way over to the bank of windows and presses a button on the wall. Instantly the windows darken for privacy.

“You can control the amount of light here on the wall or program it into your phone,” she tells them, lightening the space up again after her demonstration. “There is a laundry room, work-out space, and coffee bar in the building as well.” Her eyebrows lift. “What do you think, Bucky?”

Steve watches as Bucky’s eyes take in the space, walking over and taking a seat on one of the barstools next to him. The fixtures and appliances are all high-end, for sure, and the cabinets are a beautiful, dark mahogany stain…what few cabinets there were, that is. It wouldn’t be enough space to hold all of Steve’s stuff and he’s certainly no master chef himself, though he does prepare his own meals regularly. 

“You like to cook, Buck?” he asks, curious for the answer. 

The dark head next to him bobs up and down. “I do,” he answers, shifting his dubious gaze to the sink and cabinets behind him. “But not in this kitchen. Hardly any prep area.”

It’s shit like this Steve is dying to know about Bucky, and makes tromping around downtown Chicago all morning worth it. He drops an elbow on the counter, sinking his chin into his hand. “Prep area for what, pray tell?”

Bucky’s eyes roll to the ceiling. “I don’t know, monkey brains? Whatever I feel like cooking, I guess,” he finishes defensively when Steve starts to laugh.

“You feel like cooking monkey brains often, Andrew Zimmern?” he razzes, and hears his mom’s tinkle of laughter from the other side of the room.

“No, smart ass,” Bucky fires back. “I just couldn’t think of anything specific is all. I bet you love the place since it looks so sterile.”

Steve curls his lip in pretend annoyance as his mother’s laughter grows louder behind him.

Sarah rejoins them, sliding onto the other barstool. “I see you’ve come across Steven’s tidy streak,” she teases, ruffling his hair a bit with her fingers before turning back to her client. “So, Bucky, not enough space for you?”

“Maaaa,” Steve groans and smoothes his short, blond hair back into place as Bucky chews on his lip for a moment. 

“The view is amazing,” he concedes, “And the building is very modern, but no, I don’t think I like having such a tiny living space. I like to have friends over, and this…” he looks around the space, “…this wouldn’t work at all.”

“All right,” she says briskly, “Let’s keep looking then.”

They see two more places that day. The third one had been an instant _no_, as the set-up was a bit strange and involved the kitchen and bathroom being on the second floor while the living room and bedroom were on the first floor. 

“Who wants to climb a flight of stairs in the middle of the night just to go pee?” Steve had wondered aloud, and Bucky had agreed. 

The last place is more promising, a bit on the pricey side but more space. It’s a walk-up but only one story. The location is great, but the draw-back is age—older windows that seem a bit drafty, and older appliances in the kitchen. Sarah has left the two of them in the empty apartment while she trundles off to speak to management about any plans for updates in the near future. 

Steve and Bucky are standing in the middle of the living room, checking out the crown molding along the ceiling when Bucky declares, “Your mom is super nice. Thanks for helping me out here.”

“No problem,” Steve tells him. “I like being helpful.”

“I’ve noticed. I haven’t had to carry your ass at work so much this week,” Bucky razzes, smiling, and Steve chortles with suppressed laughter. 

“_My_ ass is doing just fine, thank you very much.”

“Noticed that, too.” Bucky’s eyes drift down from the crown molding and settle on him. “Been making it really hard for me to keep my hands off of you.”

Steve nearly chokes on his tongue at this, coming out of left field. Bucky hasn’t made any hints like this while they’ve been in the office. “My…you…” 

Bucky waits for him to form lucid speech as a small smile chases around his lips. Eventually Steve’s brain catches up with the rest of him. Is this…the day he’s been waiting for? Bucky is comfortable enough in their work status to want more than friendship between them? He hadn’t expected anything to change this quickly, not by any stretch of the imagination, but he’s ready if the brunet is. 

“Does that mean you want something…more?” he asks once the feeling returns to his tongue.

Bucky’s face becomes more indecisive. “More…yes… and no. I’m not sure any kind of dating situation is a good idea yet. I think I’m still trying to get my bearings, you know? It’s just hard…guess I wanted to know how you felt about things.” 

He pauses, searching Steve’s face, and Steve hopes he’s doing a good job disguising his crestfallen feelings. Bucky is _not_ in fact, as ready as Steve is. 

“What do you want?” Bucky asks, and what the fuck is Steve supposed to say to that? He can’t let it slip he wants to date, and put all that pressure on him, not when the man seems so adorably confused. That wouldn’t be fair. 

“I…want whatever you want.” Yeah, that sounded good, right? Nice and neutral.

“That’s not an answer.”

_Then ask a different question._ “I was going for diplomacy.”

Bucky’s forehead wrinkles. “Try being less diplomatic.”

Steve sucks in some air, which seems to dissipate rather than actually filling his lungs with much-needed oxygen. “I…enjoy spending time with you, whatever form that takes.” 

The floor creaks as Bucky shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “So, you wanna go to the library, read some books together? Fill out tax forms?”

A bubble of laughter escapes Steve’s mouth. “Sarcasm is lost on me, pal. Look, this doesn’t have to be complicated,” he suggests. “I get it, you want to take your time. There’s nothing wrong with that. We don’t have to decide anything now.” He’s serious. It’s clear Bucky doesn’t really know what he wants at this point. 

He thinks maybe that’s going to be the end of the conversation, but instead Bucky drifts closer and closer, until he’s standing directly in front of Steve. _Closely_ in front of Steve, all six foot hunk of gorgeousness of him.

“What are you doing?” Steve breathes.

“I’m standing really close to you,” Bucky replies, stating the obvious. “Do you want me to stop?”

The hair is standing up all over Steve’s arms and legs, with Bucky’s body so touchably close. “No,” he says, eyes locked with Bucky’s grey-blue ones.

Bucky edges in even tighter, invading the invisible bubble of Steve’s personal space. “Then what do you want?”

His lips are parted slightly, looking so kissable Steve could weep. All right then, fuck it. Bucky wants to know what he wants? Fine. He’ll tell him what he wants.

“I want to kiss you.”

The words come out as a low murmur, but Steve knows Bucky has heard them by his sharp intake of air. 

“I want that, too,” is the whispered reply.

Steve is moving before he even registers the fact, leaning in and pressing his mouth to Bucky’s. Instinctively their hands find each other’s waists, pulling the other in closer. The kiss is intense, not too hard, not too soft. _Perfect._ Bucky tastes as good as Steve remembers, and better. He slides his tongue around Bucky's and licks deeply into his pliant, delicious mouth. Heavenly. When it’s over and they break apart, Bucky’s eyes are big. 

“How long you been holding that in?” he asks breathlessly.

In truth the answer would have been over a year, but Steve stops short of opening that can of worms. 

“Long enough.”


	9. The Boy Next Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's mother proves to be invaluable in the apartment search. Thor is invaluable in being a pain in the ass. And Steve and Bucky get in some quality flirting.

Chapter Nine 

Steve’s mom returns from the building’s management office before he and Bucky can do any more talking (or kissing), but as she leads them from the apartment Steve keeps his eyes locked on Bucky’s, and vice versa. They’ll definitely have to revisit this conversation later. Not as soon as Steve would like, though; Bucky has to run so as not to miss his niece’s dance recital that afternoon. 

They separate once they exit the building, with Sarah promising to find more properties to show. Bucky heads off to catch the train while Steve and his mother decide to walk down the busy street to a nearby café for lunch. It’s a small place serving American cuisine; though it’s somewhat crowded they manage to find an empty table. 

As they are sliding into their chairs Steve admires the cool fifties-inspired décor: black and white, checkerboard floor tile and pictures adorning the walls depicting the enormous cars with tail fin lights that were populous back then. Once they have given their orders to their waiter, a harried-looking but friendly enough young man, Sarah Rogers wastes no time getting right to the point.

“Are you and Bucky dating?” she asks as she breaks off a chunk of warm sourdough bread from the loaf brought to their table and hands it to Steve. 

“What? _No_,” an unnerved Steve responds as he accepts the bread and picks up a small knife. How would she know anything? Warily he eyes his mother. “Why would you ask that?” 

With deft precision she maneuvers around that question by asking another of her own. “You _are_ interested in him, though, yes?” She pops a bite of her own buttered bread into her mouth and chews, watching her son as he butters his finger as well as the crusty bread. 

“Bucky is a friend,” Steve states firmly. That much is true, but she’ll know if he’s holding back, so he tacks on an addendum. “Whether or not it turns into something more remains to be seen.” 

“So you _are_ interested,” she hums, taking his statement as one hundred percent confirmation of that. “He’s very attractive. And sweet.” She smiles when he blushes and busily examines his dinner plate for cracks. “Is he available?”

“Maaaaa,” Steve drawls, more in warning than in petulance. Of course his mother wants him to be happy and “settle down” with someone sometime in this century. She usually doesn’t pry excessively, but something in her tone sounds suspect. 

She holds up both her hands in surrender. “I just wanted to get a better idea of how well you two get along, that’s all. Not pushing.” 

“Uh huh,” he grunts with affection, and lets that go to change the subject. “How’s dad?”

\--

The rest of the weekend flies by and Steve is surprised on Sunday evening to receive an excited text from his crush. 

_Your mom showed me another place this afternoon and it’s GREAT!_

After plopping down on his couch and flipping on the TV, Steve types in a reply. _Wow, she found another place that fast? Tell me all about it._

Bucky: _Two bedroom, over toward the museums, close to the rail. Cats allowed! New listing, hasn’t even been posted to public yet. Had to hustle over short notice to see it._

Steve stares at the text for a moment in partial disbelief. Near the museums? He couldn’t be that lucky, could he? He types back: _I’m near the museums. What street?_

He’s not actually expecting it when Bucky replies with the name of the street…and it’s his own. His eyes bulge slightly. 

Steve: _What’s the street number?_

Again his eyes bug when he receives Bucky’s response, and his heart rate speeds slightly. _ Holy shit!_

Steve: _Buck—that’s the building next door to me!_

Bucky: _What? She didn’t tell me that—but she did say I’d enjoy the area, LOL! So your mom has a sneaky side?_

Steve’s heart is thumping with anticipation as he responds: _Apparently. Are you going to take the apartment?_

Bucky: _Yep! Guess we’ll be neighbors!_

There is a smiley face emoji at the end of the message that Steve expects matches his own expression, as he contemplates having Bucky so close by. He’s more suspicious of his mother, however, and he texts her next after welcoming Bucky to the neighborhood.

Steve: _Did you know about that apartment yesterday? ‘Fess up now._

Sarah: _Yes, dear, but my intentions were not nefarious. I didn’t want to put him right on top of you until I met him and then got to speak to you privately._

Steve actually _blushes_ at his mother’s unintentional wording, because all he can think about is Bucky literally on top of him. Naked. He’ll have to hold onto that thought for later. Right now he has to deal with his mother. She could have told him at the restaurant she had another place in mind, couldn’t she? 

Steve: _Couldn’t have given me a heads up?_

Sarah: _You’re the one who changed the subject at lunch._

He blows air out his mouth noisily. Well, that was true enough, so he probably deserved that. After eye-balling his phone for a moment, Steve decides to take her at her word for the rest of it, too. She’s never lied to him before, and it is a fair point. Since he and Bucky will likely see each other on the same train to and from the office every day, it’s loyal of her to place her own son’s feelings first, before a stranger’s. Fortunately, the idea of seeing Bucky regularly outside of work excites him rather than upsets him.

Bucky, right next door! How great will _that_ be? Steve spends the rest of the evening fantasizing about the handsome brunet. Their kiss still feels fresh on his lips and makes him want so much more. More kissing, more touching, more _Bucky_. Any way he can get him. But what does Bucky really have in mind? He can’t wait to find out. 

\--

Next morning when Steve arrives at work, he spots Sam in the lobby and they walk up together, discussing all the sporting events that transpired over the weekend. Upon entering their main office they find Bucky already inside, diligently on the job re-decorating the wall behind his computer. They dump stuff on their desks and while Sam disappears toward the kitchen, Steve goes around the island to inspect Bucky’s progress. 

So far he’s tacked up a wall calendar, one picture of him on a beach somewhere with a young woman he assumes to be his sister, owing to the striking family resemblance, one picture of him smiling while his niece and nephew climb all over him, and five pictures of his cat, a grey fluffball with long whiskers and luminous amber eyes. The other images Steve and Sam had put up are gone, with the exception of the spider. Bucky is working around that, indicating it has found a permanent home there. 

“Buck,” Steve chuckles, “Are you keeping the spider? It’s hideous.”

“Au contraire, spiders are majestic creatures. Of course I’m keeping it.”

“Majestic is a strong word,” Steve argues, eyeing him critically as Sam re-enters, followed by Stephen and Bruce, who greet them and head down to their desks on the other end of the room.

“Don’t tell me you kill spiders who dare enter your home rather than relocate them,” Bucky teases.

Sam tosses his dark head back and laughs, slapping his hands on his thighs as he sits down on the edge of his desk and butts in immediately.

“Steve is petrified of spiders. It’s very manly.”

“They’re asking for it by coming into my space,” Steve insists, pointing a finger at Bucky. 

“I never knew this when we were in Texas.” Bucky sits back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest and examining Steve as if he were a bug under a microscope. “I would have made a point of finding a nice, big tarantula for you.”

Closing his eyes and shuddering, Steve replies, “How horrifying.”

“That’s a little much, even for me,” Sam agrees. 

Bucky just laughs. “So you’re telling me if I get a pet tarantula, neither of you will come over to visit? Good to know.”

Steve’s brow wrinkles. “Wouldn’t your cat kill it?” 

“Jasmine?” Bucky snickers. “She might try to bat it around and play with it, yeah, but Princess doesn’t have to kill to get her own food. That’s what I’m around for.”

Sam gestures to the wall behind Bucky. “I assume that’s her in those four thousand pictures you put up?”

Steve chuckles this time and waves as Natasha and Clint file into the room and shuffle past him. Bucky assumes a pouty look, glances at his wall and back to Sam, eyes narrowing. “Better than that shit _you_ put up.”

“That shit was perfect,” Sam purrs, kissing his fingers like a chef admiring his own masterpiece. 

They’d all had a good laugh last week when Bucky finally had noticed their handiwork. He had immediately accused Steve, who promptly threw Sam under the bus as well. His long-time friend loved to take credit for his own deeds, however, so there was no skin off his nose. Bucky had grumbled good-naturedly about his desk being desecrated before bestowing one of his beautiful smiles on Steve and promising to rectify the situation. 

That smile had kept Steve in a good mood for the rest of the day. He’s deep in thought about it now, contemplating the perfection of Bucky’s lips and mouth and the soft plushness of them during their kiss on Saturday, when he is snapped back to the present with a question posed by Natasha. 

“Any success apartment hunting yet?”

“Yes!” Bucky almost shouts, bouncing in his seat. “Steve’s mom came through in the clutch and found me a place right next to Steve’s building!”

“Right next to Steve, huh?” Natasha drawls, giving Steve a significant measure of side eye. 

Steve pretends not to notice and looks at Bucky. “When do you move in?”

“I can start moving stuff over next weekend,” Bucky informs them, then frowns a bit. “Not that I have much to move. I gotta go furniture shopping, actually.”

Clint chimes in, “Great, so you don’t need any help? Cuz moving Steve last time was a pain in the ass!”

Steve sulks as Bucky laughs at Clint’s assessment. 

“No, but thanks for the offer, Clint.”

“How was I a pain in the ass?”

“Steve,” Sam admonishes him, “I love you, man, but the sheer massive quantity of _shit_ you have in your apartment guarantees you are a pain in the ass to move.”

“So heavy…it was all so heavy,” Clint whines. 

Steve does NOT care for knick-knacks that just collect dust. He has minimal shit…but when he looks around, bewildered, he sees Natasha nodding in agreement, too. What? Okay, so he has two large bookcases filled with books, is that a crime? And then there’s his record collection…but records just _sound better_ than digital music. And the solid oak bedroom suite was given to him by his grandmother, he can’t ever part with that! What was wrong with these people?

“I think you all are exaggerating,” Steve grumbles as Peter enters the office.

He calls out a cheery, “Morning!” and stops when Natasha addresses him.

“Peter, how much fun was it to move Steve to his apartment?”

“It was a pain in the arse!” Jokingly he flexes a bicep and rubs it with his hand. “Even _my_ loaded guns were sore from carrying that dingy old trunk around.”

“That steamer trunk is vintage!” Steve yelps amidst laughter from his companions. 

“All right, fine!” he glowers and turns to Bucky. “You sure you don’t need help moving?”

Bucky shakes his head, still grinning. “If I think of anything, I’ll let you know, neighbor.”

_Neighbor._ Steve likes the sound of that. Almost enough to stop pouting. 

\--

After spending the entire day trying to get Bucky alone to speak to him, Steve is almost ready to give up. Someone _always_ seems to interrupt or step into the room just when he thinks he might get his chance. Thor apparently needs his help for _everything_ short of tying his shoes, and seems constantly underfoot (if a six foot three, strapping man could be underfoot). Steve counts no less than five times he barges into the playroom to ask questions or show them something while they are working on their project. Finally, when they are leaving for the day, he and Bucky both by happenstance make for the door at the same time. 

Half of the office had already emptied out, including Nat and Clint, who typically walk to the same train entrance Steve does. He waits until they are out of earshot of their area and haven’t picked up any stragglers before bringing up the subject he’s been dying to bring up.

“So, we never got to pick up where we left off on Saturday.”

He hasn’t stopped thinking about kissing Bucky. At all. Hasn’t stopped thinking about what it could mean, where their relationship could go. Maybe Bucky is unsure about the whole dating thing, but Steve has been re-thinking his decision to keep his own feelings to himself. He doesn’t want to _pressure_ Bucky into anything he’s uncomfortable with, but that doesn’t mean he can’t at least give him a little clue that he’d be interested if or when Bucky was ready for a relationship. 

Plus, there’s the sex. The amazing, brain-melting, nirvana-inducing sex. Something else to consider. 

Bucky has his eyes on Steve as he replies quickly, “I know. But I want to. Just not here at work.” He pauses as Steve pulls open the loud and heavy doorway to the stairwell and they start down. “My family’s going to help me get stuff moved over the weekend. Want to stop by Sunday evening and see the place? Then we could…talk more.” 

Steve likes the little break that happened before Bucky said the words, _talk more_. Somehow it left wiggle room for more than just talking, and he _really_ wants a chance for more than just talking. Bucky reaches the door first and pushes through it, with Steve right behind. The lobby of the Jarvis building is spacious and bright, owing to the large bank of windows on the street side. Three elevators and two stairwells empty into it, as well as foot traffic from the hallways that led to the other first floor offices. Several people are all heading for the exit, but it’s not too chaotic or loud that it would prevent conversation. 

“Sure,” Steve agrees. “You want to get some dinner? Based on how tired I was after moving, you may not want to cook at all.”

Bucky looks him up and down. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

He doesn’t look upset per se by the prospect, more curious, if Steve had to put a word to it, so he tests the waters a little. 

“What if I am?”

Bucky shifts the strap of his messenger bag on his shoulder and is silent for just a second, but it’s long enough for Steve to know the idea makes him nervous, so to avoid creating awkwardness he pulls his foot back out of the water.

“Just take-out then, and don’t think of it as a date,” he suggests. “We’re friends.” Steve _hates_ the term “friends with benefits.” He’s _not_ going to classify their relationship that way, much less say it out loud, though he certainly wouldn’t be _opposed_ to more kissing, if Bucky was so inclined. Or more substantial body contact. Like putting his tongue on every bit of exposed flesh he could find.

They reach the outer exit and both push through the glass doors, hitting the crowded city sidewalk together and turning for the closest train platform. The day was a cool one and now that it’s approaching evening, the temperature is starting to drop even more. Bucky is looking at him again, with his dark hair blowing in the brisk wind, but this time he’s smiling. 

“Friends,” he repeats, with no tension in his voice, allowing Steve to relax. 

“Good friends,” Steve clarifies, hiking his own bag higher onto his hip and hugging it close to his body both out of habit in the hectic environment and for protection from the Chicago wind, which seems to seep right through his clothes and give him goose bumps. 

There are cars and busses whizzing past on the street, and tons of people all making their own way home or out for the evening, but Bucky tilts his head towards Steve, ignoring all the hubbub around them. His cheeks are pinking up in the cool air as it blows past, and it’s adorable. 

“Really good friends?” he asks, eyebrows raised.

Steve nods. Maybe he can risk just one toe in the water. “Really good friends…who might, on occasion, kiss each other.”

A smile lights up Bucky’s face and one spreads across Steve’s face of its own volition as well. 

“Right,” Bucky says, and Steve is highly encouraged by that simple response. Even more so with his next words. 

“Really good friends might do that. And they might, on occasion, even want to see each other naked.”

His eyes pierce Steve’s, and the rush of heat that goes straight to Steve’s chest makes the wind seem irrelevant.

Nodding agreeably, he grins even more. “They might.”


	10. Ask and You Shall Receive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets to meet the hot new security guard. The hot new security guard also gets to meet Steve, and takes an interest in him that does not go unnoticed...by anyone.

Chapter Ten

“Anyone have anything for the good of the group?”

It is Tony’s customary query, spoken at the end of every one of their informal weekly meetings, and he always peers around the room expectantly, knowing _someone_ will have _something_ to say. They are not a quiet bunch, and there’s invariably some observation or question that neglected to get brought up earlier. 

Peter gestures to the room at large with a smug expression on his face. “I’d just like to thank the other teams in advance, on behalf of _my_ team, for the lunches we’ll be enjoying when we TOTALLY WIPE THE FLOORS WITH ALL OF YOU!” For emphasis he points with both arms outstretched, but his pointing seems focused more on Sam and Natasha than anyone else, namely Steve, so he just chuckles. 

The aforementioned Sam and Natasha, however, plus Clint and Thor, are a bit more animated and respond with their own catcalls and denials. Tony, of course, is aware of the friendly wager that had been made, so the statement doesn’t come as a surprise to him. His only response is to put his hands up and dull the roar going around the room. 

It’s one of the things Steve loves about having Tony as a boss. Unless there is some detrimental effect to their shenanigans, Tony doesn’t discourage the camaraderie, and he never micro-manages them. As long as the work is getting done to his satisfaction, he is content to let things roll. 

“It’s only the design phase, people, no loss of limb yet, please,” Tony now teases. “I need you all fully functional at least till the end of the next phase. So, if we’re done here…”

He’s about to release them to return to work when the door opens and Steve catches sight of someone in a navy blue Jarvis security uniform standing inside the open doorway, holding a metal box of some kind and a clipboard. His back is to Steve and he can’t tell who it is, but Tony seems to know him. 

He touches his own forehead in the manner of a person who has forgotten something important, and announces, “Oh, right! Nobody go anywhere, security needs to switch out our badges to new ones. People who don’t have theirs with them will be summarily executed.”

There is an unfamiliar-sounding but pleasant laugh from the guard before he turns, smiling, and Steve can get his first good look at him. And his first good look makes him suck his bottom lip inside his teeth with a sharp inhale. 

This…this _has_ to be him, the “hot security guard” the women were talking about the other day. Steve gets a glance at a tall, lean body with dense muscles, a long chin on an oval face and the warmest, brownest, sweetest eyes, more like a happy puppy than a security guard. He only gets a glance at all of this, because almost immediately Natasha jumps up in front of him and blocks his view. 

Then Wanda and Darcy swarm forward as well, so the three of them surround the poor devil, and Steve gives up any other attempt for now. Turning to Sam, he makes the astute observation, “So this is him, right?”

Sam laughs in a knowing way and nods. “Hope you’re not in a hurry, ‘cuz they’re gonna be a while.”

Nope, no hurry. With the way the women flutter around him, Steve gets a couple more peeks, but he’s seen enough. Sure, the guy is flawlessly handsome, with his perfectly-styled brown hair, chiseled features and killer smile, but he’s got nothing on _Bucky_. Bucky, who is so hot he could shoot solar flares out his ass. Bucky, who makes Steve ache like he got run over ten times by a Mack truck and would gladly crawl back for more.

Bucky, who at this moment is leaning over the middle island to ask, “Is that Wade?”

Steve looks from Bucky to Sam. “Who’s Wade?”

“The hot security guard.”

Steve looks back to Bucky. “That’s Wade.”

He throws a glance over to the door, where the man still stands with the harem of women. They seem to be moving along with the badge swap, so Steve figures he should probably hunt down his own. After he uses it to swipe into his computer in the morning, it usually gets tossed onto his desk somewhere. He’s been doing that for years and his badge is pretty old and beat up, so he doesn’t think anything of it when they are asked to switch out. 

His automatic assumption is that the IT department is just being proactive. Certain colleagues, however, seem to be on the more suspicious side. As Wade slowly makes his way around the room, Steve hears Peter ask, “Why do we need to have our badges replaced, anyway? There’s nothing wrong with mine.” 

Wade responds with a cheery, “Just upgrading the old, worn out stuff, that’s all. Nothing to worry about.”

“Who’s worrying?” Clint grumbles as he hands his old badge over. “Although, doesn’t it seem curious then that Bucky’s badge is pretty new and he still has to turn his in, too?”

Bucky shrugs his shoulders, as if to say, _I just work here_, and Wade tips his head toward Clint. 

“You’re the first one today who’s noticed that everyone’s getting an upgrade,” he states, eyeing him appraisingly. 

“You’re in a building full of engineers, and I’m the _first_ to notice that?” Clint scoffs, signing the clipboard to take possession of a sparkly new name badge. 

“Well, the first to say anything about it.”

Clint looks over the new bit of laminated plastic and laughs, holding it up for everyone to see. “New badge but old picture. Guess they don’t care about updating that.”

“Taking new photos wasn’t deemed necessary,” Wade informs them. “Just adding some new security features.”

He does seem affable, not curmudgeonly like some of the security staff, so Steve’s estimation of him goes up a notch. Taking a few steps past Clint, he stops in front of Steve’s desk space. The box containing their badge supply and the clipboard get placed on the island.

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Steve laments, looking down at his own badge. “I would’ve appreciated not looking at this snap anymore.”

“Why?” Sam teases, laughing. “Because you look like a first class dork?”

Steve had gotten that picture taken just after coming in on a windy day. His hair is sticking up at odd angles, giving him a disheveled appearance, and there is a mildly annoyed expression on his face. Sam has been giving him a hard time about it for years. 

“Bite me,” Steve tosses the retort to Sam over his shoulder as he hands over the badge to the security guard; he takes a look at it before bringing his eyes up to Steve’s and smiling at him.

“Well, I like the tousled look, myself,” Wade says smoothly, leaning his long body back onto the island behind him. 

The way he’s staring is making Steve feel a bit self-conscious. Without even looking, he can feel not just the guard’s eyes on him but the women’s as well, as they silently watch the interaction. Okay, so the guy is friendly. So what? No need to make a big production here. 

“Tousled, yeah,” he mutters, and coughs once into his fist. “That picture is so old, it hardly looks like me anymore.” He holds out his hand and Wade drops the replacement into his palm.

The intensity of his gaze is quite piercing, and unnerving. “You know what they say, Steve…” he looks down at the original badge in his other hand before continuing, eyes up on Steve’s again. “… fine wines get better with age. Looks like you have, too.” 

Heat creeps up into Steve’s cheeks and he grabs the clipboard, eager for something else to look at. That’s enough _interaction_ for one day; Steve doesn’t want any interaction of any kind, unless it’s with Bucky. He just wants his damn badge. With a hasty scrawl he puts down his John Hancock and passes the clipboard back. As he does so he sneaks a look across the island. Bucky is examining the back of Wade’s head with an inscrutable expression on his face. 

Darcy and Natasha are less difficult to read. Astonishment is how Steve would describe it. Wanda merely appears interested, like a new puzzle has been placed in front of her, while next to him, Sam is almost snorting with laughter. Steve shoots him a dirty look before he is required to address their visitor again (since he apparently can't escape), and _why_ isn’t there a hole nearby with easy access to climb into?

“Have you been in this department long?”

“Yeah, long time. You’re new here, right?” Steve rubs his jaw, fidgeting.

“Yes. My name’s Wade, by the way.”

“Steve.” That was a super dumb thing to say, but Steve is pretty flummoxed, so dumb it is. 

Wade smiles like he just said something clever, anyway. “Yeah, I’d worked that out from your name badge.”

“Right.” Steve scratches at an imaginary itch on his eyebrow. “Well, welcome to the company.”

“Thanks. Everyone has been making me feel very welcome so far.” 

Thankfully, Wade turns his notice momentarily to the now- cooing ladies, still congregated behind him near Bucky’s seat, and Steve takes the opportunity to pretend to have some urgent business to attend to with Clint. He shuffles some papers and slides his office chair over toward Clint’s, thus making his getaway. Not missing a beat, Sam grabs the clipboard and Wade’s attention.

“We’re a regular Welcome Wagon,” he jokes. “Ladies, give him some breathing room, for crying out loud.” 

Steve loses track of the conversation then, because Clint taps him on the forearm and whispers conspiratorially, “What’ll you bet me these things have _trackers_ in them?”

Steve blinks. “What?” 

Clint glances in the direction of the retreating security guard’s back and back to Steve, mouthing the word _TRACKERS_ and nodding, while Steve grins at him and shakes his head. 

\--

“Steve and Wade, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

Steve, who has been taking assorted crap from assorted co-workers for the last hour (ever since their visitor left), picks his head up from where it lay buried on his desk. 

“Would you shut the fuck up?” he pleads, to no avail. 

Clint laughs mercilessly. Sam tosses a paper airplane at him that hits him square in the temple, bounces off and lands on the desk in front of him. It has little hearts made in red Sharpie all over it. 

“I’m not even kidding, Steve,” Darcy ruffles up his hair as she and Stephen walk past and head for the playroom. “Since you shoot down everyone else I fix you up with, if Wade asks you out, you’d BETTER say yes!”

This criticism is highly unfair, in Steve’s eyes. After all, if she fixed him up with Bucky, he would say yes. Not his fault everyone else is subpar. But, not everyone has been tormenting him about his dating life. 

Stephen’s eyebrows knit together at her comment. “Maybe you should let him make up his own mind, Darcy.”

“Thank you, Stephen!” Steve says gratefully.

“Go away, Stephen!” Natasha says in a sing-song voice, giving him a push on his way past her desk. “Trynna hook Steve up, here. He needs it!”

“I do _not_ need it,” Steve whines. 

Natasha’s red head spins in his direction. “Yes, you do.”

“Maybe he’s not Steve’s type,” Stephen offers, just before stepping into the other room.

“Wade is _everybody’s_ type!” Natasha leans back in her chair, calling out to his disappearing form. 

Steve sighs heavily as Clint holds up his badge and impersonates the guard in a much thinner, reedier voice than is factually accurate. “Why, Steve, just look at you. You’re like a yummy bottle of wine I want to suck down.”

The one person Steve wants to hear from the most has been pretty silent behind him. He initially wished both that he could see Bucky’s facial expression and not see it, because his own cheeks were already fire engine red with embarrassment. When he eventually does find a quiet, private moment to head over to Bucky’s desk and catch his attention, he’s relieved and happy to be greeted with a smile, even if he doesn’t understand why. 

“Why are you smiling?” He crouches down next to Bucky’s chair to get to his level, clutching some papers in one hand so he can pretend he came over for a legitimate reason and not just to drool over his crush. 

Bucky swivels to him and rocks back in his seat. “Anyone ever tell you you’re cute when you’re embarrassed?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steve declares, as his cheeks regain a tell-tale blush. 

“Uh-huh, right.” The pleased look hasn’t left Bucky’s face yet.

“I still don’t know why you’re smiling.”

Bucky leans in and puts his mouth close to Steve’s ear. “I’m smiling because Wade IS everybody’s type, and you didn’t even give him the time of day.”

Steve’s heart beats a little faster. _That’s because I want to give YOU the time of day…and a whole lot more._ “And that makes you happy?” he asks under his breath, turning his face slightly towards him to take in his handsome profile, so close. Bucky doesn’t want Wade paying attention to him? Hopefully that’s because he wants him all to himself. Bucky shifts his weight in his seat to move his mouth even closer to Steve’s cheek as he whispers to him. 

“It makes me—” 

“Yo, Steve, Bucky, break up the secret-sharing over here, before I call _security_ on you,” Clint razzes, barging down the aisle to carve out a space between them with his stocky body and interrupt at the most inopportune time he possibly could. “Haha, get it? Security?” 

So much for their quiet moment—but those are few and far between all afternoon. Sam and Clint are the worst offenders and have been having a field day with the whole situation, laughing uproariously at their own attempts at humor. Heading back to his desk, Steve doesn’t take it personally, knowing they just enjoy giving him shit. Wanda, ever the sensitive one, springs to his defense anyway. Gliding over from the other side of the room, she stands behind his chair, gives him a hug around his broad shoulders and announces loudly, “Don’t listen to them, sweetie.”

“They’ll get tired eventually,” Steve groans, but Sam giggles at him. 

“Tired? Dude, we could go all night.”

Clint barks out a laugh as he approaches from his other side. “Isn’t that what Wade said?”

\--

It’s finally Friday, and the day hasn’t come fast enough for Steve. Not just because everyone at work has been on his ass about Wade, though that’s certainly been the case. Friday means the weekend is approaching, and therefore Sunday is approaching, and seeing Bucky in his new digs is gonna be a real thing. 

Have to get through the work day first, though. At lunchtime Bucky, Clint, Sam and Thor are in the cafeteria with him to get some grub. He can see them already sitting down at their table, way over from his spot in line to pay (that’s what happens when you wait for the really _hot_ chicken noodle soup to come out of the kitchen). After making it through the line and crossing the crowded cafeteria with his tray, Steve is almost to their table when he hears a voice behind him, calling his name. 

He recognizes the voice, and knows everyone at the table hears it also, by the way their heads all pick up at once. Steve tries not to let his shoulders sag as he turns around. 

“Hey, Steve, I’m glad I ran into you.”

Wade looks just as attractive as he did in their office, standing there holding his own lunch fare. He’s tall, even taller than Steve, and fit, and charming. Steve notices because it’s hard not to, not because he’s interested, and realizes he still doesn’t care how alluring the man is. Not one iota. If he chose to self-analyze that tidbit of information, it would probably be quite revelatory, but he’s not going down that road right now. And he also realizes he doesn’t want to hear what he thinks is coming his way right now, either. 

“Hi Wade, how are things down in security?”

“Umm, secure,” he jokes, nodding his head. “So listen, I was wondering if you were busy this weekend, or if you wanted to go grab some coffee some time…” 

Steve feels his chest tighten as Wade trails off expectantly, and all he can do is wonder if the guys behind him can hear their conversation. More specifically, if _Bucky_ can hear their conversation. The one he’d rather be having with Bucky himself. He angles his body away from his friends as much as he can before answering. 

“Umm, look, I’m really flattered…” Steve pauses, scrabbling inside his head for words. What should he say? _"I’m currently lusting after a co-worker" _ is probably the most truthful response, but he can’t exactly risk _that_ getting around. A simple _"I’m busy" _ might be enough, but would Wade press for another day? _"I’m seeing someone" _ would be an out and out lie. _"I’m a hermit" _ sounds like an appealing option, but could be taken up as a challenge. 

He lowers his voice. “But I’m not really looking to date anyone right now.” Does that count as a lie, too? Oh well, It's the best he's got.

“Oh. That’s disappointing.” Wade’s puppy dog eyes appear wistful. “Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me. See you later, I guess.”

“Sure. Um, catch you later,” Steve finishes lamely before turning away, trying to will the heat building in his cheeks to dissipate. 

As soon as he catches sight of his companions, he’s certain they heard at least part of the dialogue. Thor, Clint, and Sam look like kids who just got dropped off at the candy store, while Bucky is much better at controlling his expression. He wishes he could hear his thoughts, and wishes Bucky was the one to ask him out for coffee. Ask him out for _anything_. Before he even has a chance to sit his butt down in a chair completely, Thor leans across the table toward him, eyes wide. 

“Did he just ask you out? Whaddja say?”

Steve sighs. “I turned him down. Now can we drop it, please?”

“I knew it!” Clint shouts triumphantly, then looks abashed when Sam slaps his arm. 

“We _all_ knew it, Captain Obvious.”

Next to him, Bucky silently wears a sanguine if cryptic smile. 

Thor leans back and crosses his forearms over his chest. “You said no? Darcy is gonna KICK. YOUR. ASS.” 

Steve sighs again and closes his eyes. Guess he’ll be avoiding Darcy and Nat for the rest of the day.

\--

“Bucky, this place is great!”

Steve means it. Although Bucky doesn’t have a ton of furniture moved in yet, as he shows Steve around his new apartment he can appreciate the space and the possibilities. 

“Thanks,” Bucky says as they walk. “It’s all because of your mom, so please thank her again for me.”

Steve had brought some take-out with him, which they had agreed upon via text earlier in the evening, and had deposited it on the kitchen counter so they could start the grand tour. The kitchen is modern, with fairly new appliances and a small pantry off to the side. That adjoins a tiny laundry room, where Bucky has his own compact, stacked washer and dryer. _Nice_. 

Next up is the living room and though it’s kind of a mess, with boxes and assorted odds and ends piled everywhere, it’s of a good size and Steve very much appreciates the hardwood floors. They pass a tiny half bath in the hallway and move on to the bedrooms, which again are fairly empty of furnishings, but also quite roomy. 

“When do you move in all the way?”

“New mattress and headboard get delivered Tuesday, so sometime after that. I can deal with a lack of furniture for a few days till the new stuff comes, but not the lack of a bed to sleep in.”

He turns and smiles, leaning against the door jamb, and Steve gulps air. He’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt, those jeans, those goddamn jeans, the ones that caress every line and curve of his body, and Steve’s had a hard time keeping his eyes up where they should be instead of allowing them to drift over every glorious inch of Bucky’s form. On top of that, mention a bed? Shit, Steve’s done for. 

As Bucky was speaking, Steve had done a slow twirl inside the bedroom, checking it out. Now he steps back toward the door and where Bucky stands, and though he’s still a yard away desire floods through him. Memories of every touch, every kiss they shared when they were in Texas are so vividly ingrained in his mind it’s like it all happened yesterday. 

“Bucky…” he starts and stops, unsure of what he even wants to say, and Bucky takes up where he leaves off.

He crosses his arms across his chest and speaks slowly, deliberately.

“Steve, I have to tell you something. When we were at work and Wade asked you out…I didn’t like it.”

Steve’s breath hitches. He wasn’t expecting that. He takes another step closer. “You didn’t?”

Bucky’s grey-blue, stormy eyes are earnest but intense. “No. I didn’t like the way he looked at you, or the way he flirted with you.” 

Steve shuffles his feet and moves just a little bit closer, till the field of electricity being generated between them makes it’s presence known, buzzing all over his skin. “Why don’t you tell me what you do like?”

Bucky hesitates for a moment; his arms fall to his side and he closes the gap between them in slow motion, watching Steve’s expression, then presses him back against the open door. His hands slide over both sides of Steve’s face and before he knows what’s what, he’s being kissed like he hasn’t been kissed in a long time. Long, and deep, and slow, like when you’ve gone without something for too long and you want to savor every second when you do finally get it again.

Steve lets his eyes close and his mouth open, clutching at Bucky’s waist to pull their bodies more tightly together, and it feels so amazing, finally having him in his arms again. Every part of him tingles and feels so _alive_. He’s longed for more of this since their first kiss after being reunited, and it doesn't disappoint. Bucky’s tongue presses in, filling his mouth in such a delicious way that Steve unashamedly moans out loud. 

Hands meander down over Steve’s chest and squeeze gently at the abundant muscle there, all while Bucky still kisses the daylights out of him. He tastes so fucking good, Steve wants to just _devour_ him. He lets his hands roam as well, slipping down over that perfect ass, because as long as they’re making out, he wants the full experience of touch and taste. The kiss goes on and on, getting better with each passing second. Better, and _hotter_. They’re breathless by the time they break apart.

Fuck, good thing he _asked._ “I like this, too,” Steve gasps.

Bucky chuckles softly and rests his forehead against Steve’s. “Damnit, Steve, see what you do to me…I know I have no right, no claim on you, but I want you, and I don’t want anyone else to have you.” 

“Jeezus Buck, I want you, too.” Steve shares a breath with him and tilts his head in recognition of the empty room they’re in. “Wanna go back to my place?”

“I'm so glad you asked.”


	11. Do You Trust Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little conversation between our two boys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short but sweet. More of a teaser chapter than a full-blown chapter. The blowing comes next. ;-)

Chapter Eleven

You know you’re in trouble when walking from one building to another one directly next door seems like an insurmountable task. Steve finds himself actively regretting the fact that teleportation isn’t a real thing. He and Bucky leave his empty bedroom and make for the door, but Bucky then doubles back toward the kitchen.

“Our food!” he exclaims, plucking the bag from the counter with one hand and turning back to Steve. “It’s gonna get cold.”

“Priorities. Also, that’s what microwaves are for,” Steve observes.

“Good point.” Bucky grins and pulls his front door shut behind them. 

It’s halfway through the elevator trip to the first floor that Bucky’s face changes into something Steve’s not sure he likes. 

“Why do you look so guilty?”

Bucky grimaces and the bag makes a crinkly sound as he squeezes it in his arms. “Probably because I feel guilty?”

About the food? About sex? What’s there to feel guilty about? They haven’t even _done_ anything yet, but he can’t enjoy anything if Bucky is having regrets already. Gently Steve takes the bag in his own hands (because hello, grape leaves!) and questions him, “Second thoughts?”

“Oh, God no,” Bucky declares without hesitation, and Steve relaxes.

The elevator door pops open with a dinging sound. “Then we can talk about it when we get there,” he proposes, and Bucky nods.

The trip next door and up the elevator to Steve’s apartment is simple and quick. There are others in the elevator with them so they can’t talk even if they want to, but it does leave Steve with enough introspective time to formulate a theory. He’s man enough to admit that when Bucky showed some jealousy about Wade, his heart flew up into his mouth and nearly beat its way right out of his body. When Bucky said he didn’t want to share Steve with anyone, did he get his hopes up a teensy bit? Of course. Maybe more than a teensy bit. 

But he _knows_ Bucky is squeamish about the whole “relationship” concept. That little problem isn’t a new one, and Steve never assumed they would be running off to elope and live happily ever after. Has he fantasized about shit like that? Hell yeah. Would he prefer to call Bucky his boyfriend and be with him in unending bliss, twenty-four-seven? Fucking hell yeah. He can’t deny disappointment, but it’s not a deal-breaker. He’s not going to turn him away tonight just because he’s not ready to go full throttle like Steve is.

All of this has passed silently through Steve’s head by the time they arrive at his door; he lets Bucky in and leads him to a couch in his living room, flicking on lights as they pass a wall switch. 

“Holy shit, that steamer trunk is _huge_,” Bucky teases, spying the beast Peter had complained about, stationed over in one corner. 

Steve drops their dinner onto the coffee table and turns to place his hands on Bucky’s shoulders, applying gentle pressure to get him to sit (which he obediently does). “Yeah, whatever. Peter is a wuss,” he replies, more concerned with Bucky’s frame of mind. “Talk to me.”

He sinks down onto the couch next to him and gives him whatever time he needs to decide what to say. Bucky appears apologetic and anxiously runs a hand through his hair. 

“I’m trying not to be an asshole and I’m afraid I’m being an asshole. After all, you could have the hot security guard, or anyone you wanted for that matter, sitting here with you, instead of me.”

What the fuck. Steve frowns. He doesn’t _want_ the hot security guard here, he wants Bucky. 

“I didn’t kiss the hot security guard, I kissed you. And I didn’t invite the hot security guard to my place, I invited you.”

Bucky’s face is a study of conflicting emotions—guilt and confusion amongst them. “Yeah, but maybe you should have.” 

“I’m not into threesomes,” Steve promptly quips. He suspects that’s not what Bucky means, but wants to get him to relax a bit, and the joke does bring up a nervous giggle from him.

“Funny. But that’s not what I meant,” he says, tilting his head and looking at Steve from under a curtain of dark eyelashes. 

“Then out with it.”

Bucky swallows and licks his bottom lip, which is sexy as hell. “I want this—I want _you_, but I…can’t make you any promises, and I don’t want to lead you on. Because assholes do that.”

Steve’s mouth opens and closes like a fish. Yep, nailed it. Honestly, the honesty is nice, but Bucky could have just barreled forward and nailed him all night long, and Steve probably would have gone along willingly one hundred percent. No, not probably, definitely. Instead, he’s talking about how he feels—that doesn’t make him an asshole in Steve’s book. It makes him human, and more evolved than some of the guys he’s dated in his life.

“Promises about what?” Steve counters. “You haven’t led me on and you’re not an asshole. I don’t know why you’re so squirrelly about dating,” he pauses and grins because Bucky’s face when he said “squirrelly” was just priceless, “but we don’t have to put a label on it. I’m not trying to pressure you into something you’re not ready for, either.”

“Squirrelly?” Bucky says in disbelief, but Steve knows he’s coming around because he takes Steve’s arm and tugs, encouraging him to get closer. 

“If the animal fits…” Steve teases, allowing himself to be pulled in.

“Steve, you’re not the one putting pressure on. You just deserve to be happy. I want you to be happy.”

Steve responds by turning and straddling his lap, sinking his knees into the couch cushions on either side of Bucky’s thick thighs, and snaking his hands up over his wide shoulders. 

“Now I’m happy.”

“Okay. This is pretty nice,” Bucky purrs, eyes widening. His warm, gentle hands find their way around Steve’s waist and glide down over the cheeks of his butt.

_Fuck yeah it is._ “You deserve to be happy, too, so why don’t we just set some ground rules so we’re both comfortable?” he suggests.

“Name ‘em.”

“We absolutely tell each other if we feel too much pressure…over anything,” he starts. “Or if we want to stop.” 

_Like that would ever happen._

Bucky nods and appears less apprehensive. “Agreed.” 

“Are you seeing anyone else?”

“No, of course not.” Bucky looks aghast at that notion, and Steve lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

“Me either. And I’m clean—got tested after the last time I was with someone. Do you trust me?”

“Of course I do.” Bucky’s eyes drop for a moment, then return to Steve’s. “Okay, look, after my last relationship ended, I guess I got gun-shy. Tried dating for a while.” His shoulders shrug. “Nothing ever took. But I got tested after my last time, too. Clean.”

Steve nods thoughtfully. So that’s the reason for the skittishness. It’s not earth-shattering information, but good to know. It’s the next part that comes as something of a shock.

“That was over a year ago.” Bucky states meaningfully, and his grip on Steve’s ass tightens almost imperceptibly.

“Your last relationship?”

“No. That was three years ago.”

“Your last time…”

Bucky nods. _What?_ Over a year…Steve’s mouth falls open slightly as the realization dawns on him, and Bucky nods again in affirmation. 

“You. I haven’t been with anyone since you.”

Steve is well and truly stunned. Bucky is in his _prime_. He’s _gorgeous_. And he’s been _alone?_ “Buck, that was _well_ over a year ago! There’s been no one since then?” 

His dark head shakes and he picks up one hand from Steve’s ass. “The tendinitis in my hand _just_ cleared up.”

Steve laughs at his joke but quiets again when he sees another question forming in the depths of those blue eyes. 

“Steve, do you ever….do you ever think about Texas?”

_Only every goddamn day of my life._

“Yes,” Steve breathes as the memories stream through his consciousness. The feel of Bucky’s skin against his, of Bucky’s mouth on his. All of it, with exquisite clarity. He’s acutely aware of Bucky’s weight under his at this very moment and presses in closer to it. Their chests touch and their faces are inches apart, and the sensation sends pleasurable tingles through his entire body. “I think about it a lot.”

“So do I,” Bucky reveals in a low, rough voice. His hands tease up and down over Steve’s spine, creating more of those tingles. “When we were together, I don’t mind telling you it was the best sex I ever had.”

The way he says the word _together_ makes Steve shiver and ache with need. There is a tiny part of him that feels sadness that Bucky isn’t asking to date him, he’s asking for sex. But a much larger part of him craves that just as much, because Bucky is spot on about one thing…it was the best sex Steve’s ever had, too. Softly he kisses the side of Bucky’s neck to chase away the shiver, and nuzzles his nose against his ear before whispering, “Me too…but I think we can do better.” 

“Fuck, I can’t wait to try.”


	12. Off To A Good Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Total smut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, jt341, welcome to Smutville. I actually didn't finish my contemplation of Steve's sexy pecs, but decided to put that thought on hold so I could post. :-)

Chapter Twelve 

It might be ambitious of Steve to think he and Bucky can improve upon the perfection that was San Antonio, but he loves a challenge. Parking himself comfortably in Bucky’s lap, he leaves his neck for now in favor of some deep kissing. As his hands slide over Bucky’s shoulders, caressing their rounded contours, Steve tilts his head to one side and slips his tongue into Bucky’s mouth. 

It’s so hard to describe how kissing Bucky makes him feel. Hard to come up with specific words aside from the apt but generic _remarkable_ or _stupendous_. The experience is sensuous and titillating, for sure, but also just feels so _right_, on the most basic level, that while he might be able to fool himself for a time into thinking this is just about sex, just about satisfying their mutual desires, in the back of his head he _knows_ he’s in deep trouble here. 

He just doesn’t care.

The apartment is quiet but for the sound of their breathing and the light rustle of clothing as Bucky separates Steve’s shirt from his skin and inserts his hands inside to drag his fingertips up and down his spine. It’s been so long, so fucking long since Bucky has touched him. Arching his back in appreciation, Steve shifts his weight but doesn’t stop kissing him. Plush lips and warm tongue slide against his as they press against each other. 

Steve lets one hand wander, journeying up the back of Bucky’s neck and into his hair, parting the soft strands with his curious fingertips. Tenderly he holds Bucky’s head to his as they kiss, feels his chest rise and fall against his own. They take their time because why not? He wants this to last, wants a chance to fulfill every last fantasy his brain has concocted in the last year plus.

Maybe start sifting through all of Bucky’s, too. 

Bucky’s admittance that he’s thought about San Antonio has thrown a lot of quality fuel onto Steve’s fire. Inside his pants he’s got an erection growing, blood rushing south so fast he’s almost light-headed. Languidly he grinds his hips down against the body below his and is thrilled to find hardness there as well. 

He rolls his hips again and Bucky encourages this, grabbing onto Steve’s ass and rocking him back and forth over his own thickening cock. He moans into Steve’s mouth and his head then falls back on the back of the couch as they respond to each other, their bodies heating up quickly with need.

“God, I want you,” Bucky groans, picking his head up. “Get out of your pants.”

Pants are a great idea, but there’s other more low-hanging fruit to go after. “First things first,” Steve insists.

Reaching down, he pulls on Bucky’s shirt, bringing it up and over his head. After tossing it aside he takes his own off and looks breathlessly at his lover. Bare chest exposed, Bucky is _beautiful_, looking back at him with as much hunger as Steve feels. His lips are red and swollen, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. 

He trails one hand down the center of Steve’s chest and stomach, eyes following the progress of his fingertips. Letting his own eyes drift shut, Steve enjoys the sensation for a long moment before leaning back in for another voracious kiss, sealing his open mouth to Bucky’s and greedily licking in. His hands fly back over Bucky’s now naked chest and shoulders, his flesh enticingly hot. Bucky grips his upper back with both hands, his short fingernails raking over his shoulder blades, not enough to really hurt, just enough to convey his lust for more.

Steve gasps in pleasure and Bucky takes the opportunity to scold him with a growled, “I said _pants_,” before grabbing at said pants and lifting his eyebrows in clear annoyance with his clothed state. 

It’s enough to get the blond to move; pushing back from the couch, Steve stands and offers a hand, pulling Bucky up to stand next to him when he takes it. 

“Come with me.”

The words come out as a low rumble but prod Bucky enough to follow when he turns and heads down a short hall to his bedroom. 

“Is there a sterile field I have to pass through?” Bucky teases merrily, and Steve wants to kiss the smile off his face.

“Fuck you,” he returns, smiling himself.

“Yes please,” Bucky murmurs without missing a beat, and trails him into his room. There is a dim amount of light thrown in, but most of the bedroom is in blackened shadows. 

“Light on?” Steve wonders out loud, catching the shake of Bucky’s head when he turns to look at him.

“I’ll feel my way around,” Bucky replies, his voice liquid satin.

Controlling his motion by holding onto his belt line, Bucky backs Steve up right to the edge of the bed. They share the same breath, almost kissing but not quite, maneuvering through the darkness. 

“So how much is a lot?”

The question is whispered, and Steve almost doesn’t catch it. And all the way doesn’t get it. “What?” he whispers back, and feels Bucky’s wispy, exhaled laugh against his skin. 

“You said you think about Texas a lot. How much is a lot?”

His eyes glitter in the darkness as Steve examines them, wondering just how truthful he should be. 

“Enough that I still remembered how you taste,” he admits. 

Bucky’s eyes widen. “_Shiiiiit…_” 

That seems to be the right answer, because Bucky looks at him like he wants to eat him alive. When their steps take them bumping up against the mattress, they stop and Steve both hears and feels the button on his jeans get pulled open and his zipper yanked down. It provides a little bit of relief for his aching cock and he sighs happily, but that doesn’t last long. Bucky jams his hand in there and fondles his erection over his boxer briefs, and _oh my God_ his touch alone sets off fireworks inside Steve’s shorts. 

His dick throbs, threatening to burst right out of his pants. He hasn’t let anyone touch him this way for a while and wasn’t sure Bucky _ever_ would, so to get to this point at all is a certified miracle. That gets more than a sigh out of him—he moans desperately, running his hands over Bucky’s hard pecs and up to the sides of his neck, celebrating every bit of skin he can reach.

“God, _yes_,” he whispers, and while he is slowly stroked, he kicks off his shoes and simultaneously lays nipping kisses along Bucky’s chin and jaw. 

There’s a light stubble there that feels sensational against his lips, is gonna feel sensational against his _everything._

“There are so many things I wanna do to you, and have you do to me,” Bucky admits in full-on seduction mode, at the same time Steve is busy dragging his tongue over his Adam’s apple. 

“I think you’re off to a good start,” is his strained response, while being skillfully and fabulously jerked off.

Seriously. If Bucky keeps it up, he’ll come in his pants before long, but that doesn’t seem to be on the list of “things to do to Steve” tonight. Instead Bucky drops swiftly to his knees, yanking down Steve’s jeans on his way to the ground, wrangling them over his hips and down his thighs. To be helpful, and also to get naked as quickly as he possibly can, Steve puts his hands on Bucky’s shoulders to balance himself and steps out of his pants. 

His underwear thankfully comes off next. Bucky’s pace slows at this point. His hands glide up the side of Steve’s thighs, thumbs stroking over the cut edges of his quads, fingers digging into the meat of his hamstrings.

“My God. Have you put on more muscle since last year?” Bucky breathes, looking up at him in the dim light. 

“You’re one to talk,” Steve banters. He’s kept his hands on Bucky’s broad shoulders, and his chest looks _massive_ from this angle. 

“C’mere, sexy,” Bucky hums, tipping his head up to him.

Steve’s bed is fairly low to the floor; he bends and sits down on the edge to bring his lips to Bucky’s; he in turn leans forward, crushing his mouth to Steve’s and pushing him backward, tipping him right over onto his back. Searching hands slide over his stomach and chest, holding him down on the bed as they sample each other’s flavor again. It’s never enough for Steve, getting the sweet taste of Bucky onto his tongue, and he hungrily opens up for him. 

The way Bucky’s weight presses into his, from his chest down to his thighs on the bed—it’s sinfully rewarding and he revels in it. Bucky still has his jeans on but Steve can detect the hard outline of his cock through them anyway, pressing against his own while they trade open-mouthed kisses and get handsy with each other. Steve draws a path down the center of Bucky’s back and outward over his flanks, over all his superheated skin. 

Bucky is the one to break off the kissing first. “Stay here,” he whispers, and disappears from view, sliding his way down Steve’s body and back to the floor, where their feet are still planted. 

Pushing his legs apart, Bucky gets between them and settles in, hands gripping Steve’s hips. Knowing what’s coming, Steve’s cock gets even more ramrod straight than it was a minute ago and pulses with need. His partner doesn’t make him wait. His fingers splay out over his hip bones as hot tongue circles the tip of his cock, licking at him in an agonizingly slow fashion. 

Steve _moans_ in an absolutely raucous fashion and fists his comforter in his hands, eyes rolling back in his head. Soft, wet lips envelop his cock head and slide up and down over the taut skin, sucking him down. It’s _heaven._

“Oh jeez…oh _fuck_,” Steve bleats helplessly.

Bucky wraps his tongue around his shaft, licking him up and down and everywhere in between before he takes him in his mouth again and sucks. Steve hears his soft moan and feels it reverberate down his shaft as Bucky takes him deep, working his dick in and out of his mouth over and over. His rhythm speeds a bit as he gets into it and Steve’s cock is surrounded by soft, wet heat.

It’s hard to tell he hasn’t done this in a long time, because he’s absolutely _brilliant_ at blow-jobs. Steve’s all about providing encouragement so he moans again, rather unintelligibly, because words are _hard,_ and lets go of his bed sheets to caress the tops of Bucky’s shoulders with his fingertips. 

With Bucky’s head bobbing up and down on him it’s hard not to just grab on there, yet he resists. His hands are a little shaky as they move over the smooth skin of those sculpted deltoids, because he’s got one awesome orgasm on the way that he wants to warn his partner about. 

“Bucky,” he gasps, “You’re gonna make me come.”

He tugs at the hair on top of Bucky’s head just barely, wanting to have his tongue shoved down Bucky’s throat when his climax hits, and Bucky moves swiftly back up onto the bed and partially on top of him. One hand is wrapped around Steve’s spit-slicked cock, pumping up and down with determination. Bucky kisses him savagely, the way Steve wants and needs him to, and his own salty pre-cum mixes with his partner’s natural flavor. 

Fuck, it’s so good, it’s so _good_, Steve holds his head to him and explodes around Bucky’s hand, his orgasm hitting him hard and fast. His body jerks, spurting uncontrollably into Bucky’s fist and onto his own stomach, and Bucky keeps kissing him and stroking him until every last drop is extracted from his spent cock. 

“Mmm, magnificent,” he murmurs against Steve’s mouth, giving him a singular, chaste kiss on the lips before rolling away.

As incredibly satisfying as that was, they’ve only scratched the surface of Steve’s fantasies, and he’s pretty fucking sure Bucky isn’t ready to quit yet either. 

“There are wet wipes and a towel in the drawer next to the bed,” he suggests helpfully. 

Pushing himself up to a sit, he hears the drawer get pulled open and after a few seconds pass, Bucky passes him a wipe for his stomach and uses another to clean off his own hand. Looking him up and down, it’s clear to Steve what needs to happen next. 

“Please tell me one of the things you want to do to me tonight is fuck me.”

He’s trying to eyeball the bulge in Bucky’s pants, but jeans and shadows aren’t a good combination for prospecting. Doesn’t matter, he remembers what Bucky is packing, and it makes his ass clench in anticipation. Bucky turns back to him, holding up the small trash can Steve has tucked in at the side of his bed for the wipes to get deposited into. 

“As long as you want that, too.”

Tossing in his wadded up wet nap, Steve scoots back up onto his bed fully, making plenty of room available for the man next to him. 

“I want that, too.”

The words come out hushed, like he can’t even believe his good fortune. Bucky is _here_, with _him_, in his bed. How unbelievable is that? How long has he been dreaming of this?

“Then this is gonna work out great for both of us, cuz I wanna get inside you and fuck till we can’t see straight.”

As the words spill out of him, Bucky shucks off the rest of his clothes, grabs the bottle of lube that was stashed next to the wipes, and climbs onto the bed, prowling toward him like a panther. If Steve hadn’t just completely emptied himself, his cock would have jumped in response to the sheer sexiness of his movements. That tank needs refueling, but fortunately for Steve, he’s got plenty in reserve. 

Their eyes have adjusted to the low light and with the bonus of Bucky being naked, he can now make out the outline of his thick cock as he kneels on the bed a couple of paces away. The breathtaking brunet slicks up his hand with lube, using it to stroke himself and coat his shaft. Steve licks his lips, watching Bucky’s hand slide over his cock and thumb at the fat head. 

“Stop teasing me and get over here, goddamnit,” he pouts impatiently.

Bucky snorts and gives himself another couple lazy strokes, just because he’s a little shit. “I see you’re still a little on the bossy side.”

“Bossy? I have not yet begun to boss,” Steve jokes, reaching out to rope Bucky’s free arm in with his and pull him closer. “Now c’mere and kiss me some more.”

“First things first.” Bucky repeats his words, using his own considerable strength to pull at Steve’s leg instead, sliding him down onto the bed on his back. 

He’s on top of him in an instant, with both knees on the bed around him and one hand near Steve’s head, caging his large body under his. His lubricated hand sneaks down between Steve’s legs and under, past his balls, searching for the entrance to his body. Steve helps him out by bending one knee up, taking a sharp breath when one cold finger delves deep enough to rub over his hole.

“This what you want?” Bucky teases him, both with his words and his finger as it strokes over him.

“Buck,” Steve groans, pushing down against that finger in a wanton display of lust. 

More groans escape as Bucky circles the tight ring of muscle, then tentatively breaches him. 

“God_damn_ you’re so _tight!_” he breathes, and leans down to press his lips to the center of Steve’s chest.

As he fingers Steve he continues kissing him, laying a track of eager kisses down his sternum. Steve was right—that stubble is really working for him, rubbing against Steve’s skin in a way that leaves him quivering and yearning for more. He does his best to even out his breathing, which had come out in shudders when he was first breached. 

Bucky’s finger pumps in and out and Steve relaxes into it; then he can pay more attention to the delicate kisses now drifting over toward one of his nipples. When Bucky’s tongue touches him there he lets out a low whine. When the nub gets sucked into Bucky’s warm, pliant mouth, he lets out a sound much more debauched than a mere whine ever could. 

“So sensitive,” Bucky whispers, momentarily halting his ministrations. “Gives me such a hard-on for you.”

Steve lets out a wheeze and picks up his head to look at him. “That I’m sensitive or that you make me moan like a cheap whore?”

“Mmm, both,” he mumbles around a mouthful of nipple, swirling his tongue over and around it. “Jesus Christ, the _sounds_ that come out of your filthy mouth…”

He never finishes that thought, because Steve pulls at his face and directs it back up to his own so he can lay the deepest, wettest kiss imaginable on him. Bucky returns the favor, snaking his tongue into Steve’s mouth and groaning, quietly but meaningfully. As they kiss he withdraws the finger he’d been penetrating Steve with and pushes the back of his thigh up, knee toward the ceiling.

Steve is already ahead one step—he grasps both his knees and hauls them upward, bending himself in half to give Bucky free access to enter him. Quickly he lines himself up, and as that hard cock presses up against his hole, Steve nearly loses it. 

“Yes, _now_,” he interrupts their kiss to sob, and claims Bucky’s mouth again. 

They’re still making out messily but enthusiastically when Bucky plunges in the first time, using a slow but steady pace, thrusting his hips right up against Steve’s ass. And if the world ended right at this moment, Steve would be okay with that. He’s seeing stars and Bucky hasn’t even hit his prostate yet. As Bucky buries himself completely he arches his back and lifts his head to the ceiling, grunting out Steve’s name. 

And in the name of everything holy, Steve wants to _howl_ out his pleasure. He’s squeezing his knees around Bucky’s waist, squeezing his abs tight so he can let go of his legs and make a play for Bucky’s back, craving the feel of his bare skin in his hands. 

He finds that smooth skin and hangs on for dear life, because Bucky has already started pistoning his hips in and out, thrusting his cock deep into Steve’s body and withdrawing almost fully. His long, full strokes are masterful, the angle perfect so the tip of his cock brushes right past Steve’s prostate. 

“Ohhhh, yesssss,” Bucky breathes. “Steve…_shit_ you feel amazing.”

“So…do…you…” Steve gasps, in between snaps of Bucky’s hips.

Steve’s headboard happens to be perfect for holding onto, solid and strong, and Bucky raises himself up to a tall kneel, clutching at it to gain more leverage. This allows him to pound in and out with bed-shaking, reality-shattering force. Force he’s not afraid to use. Though he starts off slowly, his pace quickly escalates to a bone-cracking one. He drives in over and over, fucking Steve till he literally can’t see straight. 

Steve’s heavy breaths turn into whines and cries that are just as loud as Bucky’s thrusts into him, skin slapping against skin. His nerve endings are screaming, his entire body tingling and sweating and shaking, his vision blurry. It’s _magnificent_. His head is shoved back into his pillow, chest heaving, ass clenching. And he wants more. 

“Fuck…Bucky…_yes_…” he pants, wheezing for air. 

Looking up at his lover just reinforces his thirst for him. Bucky’s flushed skin, tinged with sweat, his body undulating as he rails into Steve with abandon, it’s almost too much to take in. _This is real_, he has to tell himself. He’s not dreaming. Bucky is here, fantastically splitting him in two with his barrage. 

_Please never let this end_. The muscle bellies on the back of Bucky's thighs bulge with his efforts and Steve grasps them with both hands, trying to pull him in even more tightly. His cock is hard again, trapped up by his stomach somewhere. He wants to come, so badly, even though his body is already singing with delight. Every muscle feels pushed to its limit. Every hair stands on end. Being fucked by Bucky is just about the best thing EVER. 

Bucky shoves in hard against him and stiffens, shouting out his ecstasy as he comes. His eyes are closed, his face angelic. He grinds against Steve for another minute, powering down little by little as his orgasm peaks and passes. He’s still buried inside Steve’s ass when he lets go of the wooden headboard and drops to his forearms on the pillow around his head. They kiss for a moment and Bucky noses playfully at Steve’s cheek, resting his head there; Steve lets his legs relax, feet dropping back down to the bed. 

“Damn,” he exclaims (in a sated way).

Bucky’s softened cock has already slipped from his body; he reaches down to find Steve’s decidedly UNSOFT cock. 

“Damn!” he exclaims (in an impressed way).

“I might need some help with that, since my bones have all dissolved into jelly,” Steve states dreamily, and Bucky’s white teeth flash at him in the dark.

“Not _all_ your bones.”


	13. We All Have Needs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve has a busy day back at the office after his rendezvous with Bucky the night before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long for an update! I'm a health care worker, so, you know, pandemic. I hope everyone is staying safe and sound and that things will go back to some semblance of normalcy soon. In the meantime, have some fic!
> 
> ETA: so I started this chapter before all hell broke loose in the real world. Steve being a germaphobe, while entirely coincidental, seems appropriate!

Chapter Thirteen

First thing that happens to Steve when he steps into the office on Monday morning is an attack from Darcy. In one second the room he’s in is calm and quiet; in the next it’s like a tornado hits, fast and furious. While Steve is bent over to make room in the refrigerator for his lunch, she somehow manages to sneak up right behind him and yell his name. 

“STEVEN GRANT ROGERS!”

Steve jumps and bangs his head on the inside of the fridge. “Ow!” After shoving his lunch onto one of the packed shelves he turns and glares, rubbing the painful spot on the top of his head. “You scared the shit out of me!” 

“Serves you right, mister,” she returns with a reproachful tone, and her eyes drift to the mayhem behind him. “That fridge is gross.” 

The unit in question does have a mildly pungent odor emanating from it. “It just needs to be cleaned out again is all,” Steve decides, and Darcy pulls him clear so she can slam the door shut. 

“Yeah, great, whatever. We have more important things to discuss,” she tells him crisply, and Steve makes the mistake of thinking this is actually about _work_ stuff. 

“Is there a problem with the prelim calcs?”

“No! Why would I care about those?” The dark-haired woman puts one hand on a thrust-out hip and looks at him like he’s grown another head.

“Um…because that’s what we’re working on?” Steve answers meekly, and Darcy sighs heavily at him.

“I’m talking about you and Wade. Wade and you. Getting together.” She puts her palms together in front of her like she’s praying, then pulls them apart. “Or NOT getting together, from what I hear,” she hisses. “What the hell is wrong with you, Steve? He’s fucking HOT.”

Steve pulls a face and demands, “Who squealed?” 

Friday afternoon he’d been left alone and unmolested by any of the ladies, so he’d hoped none of his male companions at lunch that day had spilled the beans about Wade asking him out. That was probably a pipe dream all along, he now reflects briefly. No way would news of this magnitude stay secret for long. He cranes his neck and looks around Darcy as he hears footsteps approach. Bruce and Thor pass by the open kitchen door and go into the office without stopping, so he turns his attention back to the agitated female next to him.

“Who do you think?” she states sarcastically, and he knows immediately who to blame. 

“Goddamn Clint.” 

The lively engineer was known to be a gossip queen. If you ever wanted to know any office scuttlebutt, all you had to do was go to Clint. 

Darcy’s dark eyebrows arch artfully. “Also, don’t avoid the question. What gives?”

Steve presses his lips together. He _wants_ to give up the truth, but he and Bucky didn’t discuss making the change in their relationship public knowledge, so he can’t. Darcy takes his silence as an answer in and of itself and changes tactics. 

“Come on, Steve, don’t you have _needs_?”

“_What?_” he answers, laughing.

“NEEDS. We all have needs, honey.” She takes his arm and starts to draw him out of the kitchen and into the hallway.

“Yes. Yes we do.” Playfully Steve agrees with her and pulls open the door to their office.

“Then how are yours being met?” 

“Don’t worry about me, I’m fine,” he insists, and she fires a parting shot before heading to her own desk. 

“Don’t ignore your needs, Steve! That’s a recipe for disaster.”

In response he just groans and rolls his eyes, then slides them over to make contact with Bucky’s; he had looked up to check on the entrants to the room. A small smile is threatening to form on those perfectly shaped, red lips and Steve wonders just how much of the tail end of their conversation he picked up. He smiles back wordlessly and continues on to his seat. Before he even sits down, Tony wanders out of his office and strolls over, coffee mug in hand. 

“Morning,” is his slurpy greeting. 

“Hey Tony, how was the weekend?”

Tony sits his butt on the edge of his desk. “Peachy. How was yours?” 

“Uh, yeah, good.” Steve tries _not_ to look at Bucky as he plops down in his chair. “It was good.”

Darcy hollers down from her desk, “Yeah, except someone who shall remain nameless _could_ have gone out with the hot security guard and instead apparently wants to die a sad and lonely death!”

Tony’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline, while Bucky sounds like he’s choking back peals of laughter. 

“Thanks for that harsh recap, Darce,” Steve calls out, looking past Tony to catch Darcy sticking her tongue out at him.

He chooses to ignore the braying sounds erupting from the man he just got horizontal with the evening before, preferring to take him on later, but it's clear from Bucky's reaction he's not going to share the fact that he and Steve have started fucking each other. Steve is okay with that; he just wants to be on the same page. 

He's also okay with the fact that Bucky doesn't seem threatened by Wade, though he's not sure if that's because Bucky is secure in the knowledge of Steve's affection for him, or because in his eyes their relationship is just casual. Either way, Steve is thankful that at least Natasha isn’t there yet to start double-teaming him (except for Steve and Bucky, their end of the room is still empty). All of this scrutiny over his dating life gives him a headache. 

Tony takes another sip of coffee and smacks his lips. “Okay then, moving on,” he says dryly, turning to Bucky. “How was _your_ weekend?”

“It was great!” Bucky declares, smiling and stifling his remaining traces of mirth. “Started moving into my new place.” He turns as Natasha, Sam and Clint all burst noisily into the office, laughing at something that was said out in the hallway. 

“Morning, all!” Sam states airily as he strides past. 

After a chorus of “morning” greetings is returned, Tony addresses Bucky again to tease, “But aren’t you going to miss living with your folks?”

“I’m sure I’ll miss my mom’s chocolate chip cookies.”

Clint spins around as he drops down into his chair. “You mean the cookie _dough_,” he interjects, and Bucky grins. 

“Yeah, that too.”

Steve’s nose wrinkles. “Eww, you eat raw cookie dough? That’s so…”

“Delicious?” Clint finishes for him.

“…Unwise,” Steve corrects, and Sam chuckles. 

“Come on, man, really? Now you’ve gone too far.”

“Everyone eats raw cookie dough,” Tony adds.

Steve sticks out his bottom lip and tips his chair back with a squeak. “Not everyone. Some people say that’s not healthy.”

“Some people are liars,” Bucky jokes as he swipes his badge across the sensor next to his computer monitor. 

Sam pipes up again, tapping at Steve’s desk from his spot next door. “I’ve gone my whole life eating cookie dough and I’ve never gotten sick, you spaz.”

“Even a blind squirrel can find a nut, Sam.” Steve sticks to his guns, despite being heavily outnumbered, and waves away Sam’s hand even as he’s laughing, trying to remove it from his space. “Now get your unsanitary, cookie-dough eating hand off my desk!”

In response to this, Sam rolls his chair closer and starts touching everything on his desk space, from his computer monitor to his stapler. 

“Tony, can’t you keep him in line, here?” Steve pretends to grouse, chasing around Sam’s hands with his own and pushing them off his belongings.

“I’d say that’s a job for his teammates,” Tony asserts, sitting back casually on the edge of the island and successfully passing the buck. 

Steve mutters, “I work with heathens,” a moment before Clint responds to Tony. 

“Spoiler alert—his teammates don’t care,” he tosses out, winking in Steve and Tony’s direction. 

This elicits a response from Bucky, who reaches over the island to swat at Sam’s back as if he’s trying to get rid of an annoying fly. 

“Well Steve is _my_ teammate on this project, so I care.”

“Thank you, Buck,” Steve says earnestly, and instantly regrets it, recognizing his devious smile a split second too late.

“You know he becomes flustered and useless when people are touching all his stuff. He’ll be disinfecting for the next hour.”

Laughter floats toward him from more than one source, and though Steve is aware Bucky is kidding, he feigns indignance. 

“Flustered and useless!”

Sam claps him on the back and gives him a giant smile before sliding back to his own desk. “I’d say that assessment is spot on.”

“I’d say you can kiss my ass!” is Steve’s tart retort.

Sam continues to chuckle; Tony is about to respond but stops short when their office door opens again and a stranger enters. Well, not exactly a stranger…Steve eyes the man carefully. He’s seen him around the building before but doesn’t know what department he’s from. He’s tall, middle aged, with dark skin and eyes and a very commanding air about him. 

Tony seems to know him well enough and calls him by name. “Nick, wasn’t expecting to see you in here.”

“Mornin’ Tony,” the man greets him. His gaze drifts to Tony’s office and back. “A word, please?”

“Sure,” Tony agrees in an affable manner and turns, leading the man back into his office before shutting the door behind him. 

Steve is reassured by the calmness in Tony’s voice…that is, until he notices Clint having a silent freak-out next to him. 

“What is wrong with you?” he whispers, as Clint leans over and starts poking him in the ribs with his outstretched hand. 

“Do you know who that is?”

“No. Who is he?”

Clint’s eyes grow big. “That’s Nick Fury.”

Sam leans back to look past Steve and to Clint. “Who?”

“Fury, the IT guy?” Steve queries, and Clint shakes his head, as if Steve is hopeless.

“Not just IT, man, he’s _cyber security_. What’s he doing in here?”

“The two of them seemed friendly,” Sam observes. “Maybe they’re just trading cookie recipes.”

Clint hisses at them, “Are you kidding? Have you ever seen him down here before, in all the time we’ve worked here?” When they shake their heads negatively he looks around to make sure Tony’s office door is closed and then waves to them to get closer. “After all that business of making us switch out our badges, now this? I’m telling you, something’s up.”

\--

Nick only stays in Tony’s office for maybe ten minutes, but it’s long enough for an unease to settle over them all. Steve vows to hold off on the general panic till they talk to Tony directly, though when Nick departs and Tony eventually emerges from his office, his words don’t exactly help. 

“What was all that about, Tony?” Clint pries. 

Rubbing at his goatee, Tony then crosses his arms over his chest and slouches against the center island. “It seems we may have a data breach. I don’t want any of you worrying about this, it’s being handled—”

A multitude of questions get thrown at him at once, interrupting him mid-sentence. 

“What kind of breach?”

“What’s that got to do with us?”

“How do they know there’s a breach?”

“What are they doing about it?”

Tony holds up his hands. “Look, relax…I didn’t get a ton of details. Some sensitive data was downloaded, so cyber has gotten involved.” He gazes at them and upon registering the looks of worry he’s still receiving, adds, “They’ll figure it out. None of you have anything to worry about.”

“Then why was he here?” Clint shoots out in suspicion.

Tony tips his head. “Professional courtesy. Nick and I go way back.”

Being about ten years older than Steve and at the company for much longer, Steve takes his word on that. However, as much as he doesn’t want to come off as an alarmist, something gnaws at his gut and forces him to agree with Clint. “But why was he _here_?” he echoes.

After eyeing them all silently for a moment, Tony sighs. “Because the breach appeared to originate from this department.”

There is a collective gasp of disbelief, and their boss again holds up his hands in supplication.

“_Appears_ is the operative word. Nick told me it’s much too early in their investigation to know anything for certain. He just wanted to give me a heads up.”

He is hit with several more questions but they really don’t get any other useful material out of him, and Steve wonders privately if he’s holding something back. The sour feeling in his belly only intensifies throughout the morning, and one person specifically occupies his thoughts. Bucky. Steve is fully confident that Bucky is innocent of any wrong-doing, but as the newest hire in their department, isn’t it most likely he would take the blame for any data breach? 

Steve chews his lip and stares unseeing at his computer screen as he thinks about it. Maybe he’s overreacting and Tony is right, it will be sorted out. But what if? He's heard of data breaches and is aware that industrial espionage is a thing, but only in a general way. He can't recall anything like that happening at Jarvis during his tenure there. On top of that, he has zip in the way of experience with their cyber security department and doesn’t know how good they are at their jobs. What if Bucky is railroaded right out of his?

Bucky needs protection. They need more information. To that end, when Tony has stepped out for a meeting, Steve heads directly to his other best source of information of any kind, including gossip, rumor and innuendo.

“Hey, Clint,” Steve exclaims, sliding his way down in his desk chair through the empty space Natasha’s usually occupies. She, Sam and Clint are huddled together, their three heads all closely circled, so Steve assumes he is interrupting a team meeting of sorts. As soon as he nears Clint’s desk, however, it’s obvious the subject of their conversation was NOT their team project. 

“Steve, get in here. We were just about to call you over,” Clint says in a low voice, beckoning to him. 

Steve pulls his chair in as close as he is able (between Clint and Natasha’s chairs and facing Sam). There is a lot of squeaking and shuffling noise as chair wheels get scraped along the floor, making room for him in the awkward space. Once they get situated, Natasha is the first to speak.

“So I think we can all agree that A) Tony isn’t telling us everything, and B) none of us has anything to do with a data breach, including Bucky.” 

She looks hard at Steve as she speaks Bucky’s name; subconsciously he swallows the lump that forms in his throat and throws a surreptitious glance around the long room. Bucky is down at the other end, speaking to Thor. 

Clint drops his tone even further. “I don’t know if you’ve considered this, but we think Bucky might take the fall just because he’s the new guy.”

Sam holds up his hand. “Not because he’s done anything wrong, mind you.” 

Steve is already nodding in understanding. “I know, I thought the same thing. Who do we know that we can get more information out of?”

“Well, you wanna hit up your new contact in security? You could maybe pump him for some…info,” Clint drawls suggestively.

Steve curls his lip as Sam makes a disparaging sound in the back of his throat. 

“Really, dude?” Sam shakes his head in exasperation as Clint shrugs innocently.

“What? I’m just sayin’…”

Natasha rolls her eyes, then pats Steve’s hand where it is perched, gripping the edge of his chair seat. “Leave that to me and Darcy. We’ll tackle Wade.”

“Figuratively, not literally, right Nat?” Sam teases with a grin, and Natasha smiles back impishly, batting her long eyelashes.

“Depends on how cooperative he’s being.”

“I know someone else in cyber,” Clint notes thoughtfully, staring into the distance. “Maybe she’ll let me in on some details.”

Steve blows out some air he’d been holding in his lungs. “Okay, you two see what you can find out and then let the rest of us know, so we can make a plan to protect Bucky.” 

He is mildly comforted by the fact that the others are already willing to come to Bucky’s defense, having become friends even in the short time he's been there. The tight feeling in his chest remains, though it does recede enough that he can get back to work for the rest of the day. It isn’t until they have left the office that he gets to speak directly to Bucky about the situation. His new neighbor is heading to his still-unorganized, half-moved in home, so he walks with Steve, Sam and Nat to their train platform.

The train is partially full and moderately noisy; they all engage in general chitchat during the ride, which mainly consists of Sam and Nat asking Bucky questions about his new apartment. After the two of them have gotten off at their stop, it’s just Steve and Bucky left sitting together with the other commuters. It’s an arrangement Steve likes immensely, but before he can think about it too much, Bucky turns serious-looking eyes on him. 

“Steve, I’ve been thinking about this all day. About that data breach stuff…it might seem like a big coincidence that it happened just after I joined your department, but I want you to know, that’s all it is. A big coincidence.” 

The furrows on his brow signal how worried he is, and Steve rushes to reassure him. 

“Jeez, Buck, I know that! We all know that!” He shakes his head. “We’re going to try and find out what’s really going on. Clint, Nat and Darcy are going to ask around. Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out.”

Bucky smiles his thanks; his brow smooths out and Steve attempts to put on a face that looks as sure as his words sound. They’ll figure it out. He hopes.


	14. Person of Interest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cookies, bacon, and trouble. In that order.

Chapter 14

The work week passes without any other bombshell information being unloaded upon them. Darcy and Nat wriggle all the useful tidbits of information they can out of Wade, though it is limited. He can only give them a general update—detection of unauthorized data retrieval had occurred, but tracing the origin proves to be more difficult than anticipated. According to Wade, the security systems for Jarvis are geared more to stopping external attacks and less toward “backdoor” tactics.

“I’m gonna stop you right there.” Clint suppresses a smirk. “Are you sure he said backdoor?” 

They are sitting as a group in the kitchen in various states of slouchiness, having an “unofficial” staff meeting of their own. Natasha, sitting with one leg tucked up under her, rolls her eyes. “Clint, wash your mind out with some soap and…” she starts, and Bruce holds up a hand to interrupt.

“Hold up,” he says thoughtfully, taking off his glasses and cleaning them with his shirt. “That must be what Fury was talking to Tony about. Backdoor attacks are a real thing.” 

Clint and Sam snort indelicately from their spots; they are sitting on the table's surface itself rather than chairs, throwing a nerf mini-football between themselves. Bruce frowns when the football bounces off his head, and Steve shares his sentiment. Normally his feathers don’t get ruffled by jokes involving sexual innuendo or by nerf footballs braining anyone, but with their own (and possibly Bucky’s in particular) safety and reputation in the company on the line, he’s not exactly in the right head space for that. 

“Stop clowning around, guys, this is serious!” he berates them; both men then appear contrite and quiet down. 

“Sorry, Steve,” Sam intones, giving him sad puppy eyes. Out of habit Steve glances once at Bucky and registers his concerned look (apparently Bucky isn’t in the mood for jokes either) before shifting his gaze back to Bruce. “You were saying?”

“A backdoor cyber attack is when either an authorized or unauthorized user bypasses normal security measures to gain access to a protected network or information.”

“Blah, blah, blah. What does that _mean_?” Darcy asks, widening her eyes for emphasis.

“Someone with approved access, a Jarvis employee, is using that access to get into systems they shouldn’t be able to get into, and steal data. It’s easier to get around security if you have a legitimate reason for being there in the first place. That person may also have figured out a way to make it appear the theft was done by one of us, to cover their own tracks,” Bruce explains. 

“One of us,” Bucky repeats dolefully. “You mean me.” He looks around the room. “Guys, I know how it looks but I swear, I didn’t…”

The rest of his words are drowned out by the chorus of reassurances from his co-workers as well as light-hearted recriminations for the suggestion that they would even _suspect_ him of anything. Bucky appears grateful but still worried and Steve has to squash the impulse to take his hand or to show any other outward display of affection. Reminding himself that he and Bucky are not a couple is becoming more and more of a full-time endeavor, but he doesn't have time to dwell on that problem now.

He is saved from this train of thought when Natasha concludes, “Wade promised to let us know if he hears anything else.”

Darcy looks straight at Steve and adds, “Since he LIKES us so much.”

Not wanting to be drawn into that discussion again, Steve simply whispers, “Subtle, Darce,” while Stephen and Bruce exchange confused looks. With their impromptu meeting adjourned, Steve chooses to escape the room rather than try to explain, or worse yet, listen to Darcy explain. He snatches up the football and beans Sam in head with it, then flees. Turns out to be a good choice; as he runs he hears Sam grunt and Bruce's studious voice raise in question.

“Why exactly does he like us?”

\--

Clint’s friend in cyber security, Maria, is only marginally more helpful, but that seems to be more due to the incomplete nature of the investigation rather than any attempt at secrecy on her part. What she does do is assure him in no uncertain terms that her department will “get to the bottom of it” soon. Steve isn’t entirely certain whether they should feel comforted by this or threatened, and Bucky seems to have the same thought process. 

Shifting nervously next to Steve, he queries, “But _how_ did she say it, Clint? In a mean way, or sympathetic way?”

“Maria’s cool,” Clint answers. “She’s not the one to worry about…it’s Fury. He’s been in cyber for years and takes shit like this personally, from what I hear.”

_Great_, Steve thinks. _Some guy who’s gonna have a stick up his ass until he can pin this on someone._ Tenacity could be a good thing or a bad thing, in his eyes.

“Will she at least give you some warning if Fury is coming for one of us?” he asks out loud, and Clint nods. 

“She’ll give us a heads up if something big is going down.”

That was about all they could do at that point, so Steve tries to put it out of his head and concentrate on his real work. It helps that he and Bucky start spending more time together outside of work as well, so his thoughts are occupied by much more pleasant things than industrial espionage. This increase in Bucky time also makes him happier than he ever could have imagined, and not just because they’re having regular sex. Of course, the sex _is_ phenomenal, but that’s not the only thing he’s enjoying. Seeing Bucky outside of work feels just plain good for his soul. 

The change isn’t restricted to the two of them either. Hanging out time that used to involve just Steve and Sam now often involves Bucky, too, since the three of them get on so well. It’s only been a matter of weeks since Bucky moved next door to him, but it already feels like they have always been neighbors. They know the door codes to each other’s building so they can gain access easily; usually Steve shoots off a quick text when he’s on his way over and Bucky opens up his door for him. This works vice versa, too, and there’s nothing Steve likes more than that anticipatory feeling of glee when Bucky’s arrival is imminent.

It’s a random Wednesday night when Bucky texts and asks him to come over for a surprise. Steve doesn’t bother asking what the surprise is because he knows from experience that his neighbor can be extremely tight-lipped when he wants to be. If Bucky wants to keep a secret, he’s going to keep a fucking secret. No amount of cajoling or badgering can persuade him to ‘fess up. 

Walking next door in shorts, t-shirt and flip flops, Steve enters the building and wonders what Bucky could have up his sleeve. As soon as he nears the open door to his apartment, the sweet fragrance hits him…_cookies_ baking. The delicious promise of fresh-baked cookies wafts down the hall, making his mouth water. He knocks on the open door frame in warning before stepping through the threshold and into Bucky’s space. He’s there in his kitchen, just taking a tray of chocolate chip cookies out of the oven, wearing two big oven mitts on his hands.

“Hey, Buck. It smells GREAT in here!”

Bucky greets him with a big smile that lights up his face. He’s similarly attired in t-shirt and cargo shorts. There is a baseball game playing on the flatscreen TV in the living room, which he has hung on the wall in such a position that they can see and hear it from the kitchen island. Sliding onto a round, wooden bar stool at the island, Steve hungrily eyes the cookie tray, now sitting on top of the range. 

“Are they cool enough to eat?” he asks, smacking his lips, and Bucky laughs.

“Not yet, unless you wanna burn off the roof of your mouth. Here, I want you to try something else first.”

As he is pulling off his oven mitts, Steve teases, “Something else BEFORE cookies?”

His tone changes when the brunet pulls a wooden spoon out of a drawer and dunks it down into the mixing bowl, swirling it around a couple of times to coat it in dough. He holds it up for Steve to take, ignoring the disappointed, “Come on, Buck,” that comes out of Steve’s mouth.

“Wait, this dough is special,” Bucky claims, leaning over the island on his elbows, offering up the spoon. “There are no eggs, so it’s totally safe for consumption.”

Steve gives him a dubious look and Bucky waggles the spoon around in the air. 

“Would I lie to you?” he coaxes gently.

Despite his reservations, Steve accepts the proffered spoon with an honest, “No.” Bucky has never lied to him (that he is aware of, anyway), and he doubts he would now, especially not over something so trivial. He does eyeball the gorgeous man next to him for a second before taking an experimental lick from the spoon. Once the batter hits his tongue, though, he looks at it in surprise. 

“This is good!” he says, taking another lick as he looks back up at the chef.

As he laughs, Bucky’s eyes crinkle up at the corners. “Of course it’s good, why do you think people eat it all the time?”

Steve doesn’t answer that; instead he sticks the entire spoon in his mouth and sucks off the remaining dough and chips. Bucky watches him, smiling as he retrieves the cookie tray from the stove top and brings it over to the island. Using a metal spatula he shovels the warm cookies onto a cooling rack.

“You can have an actual cookie now,” he informs him. “Try not to drool on them.” 

Steve leans over the island, tosses his spoon into the sink to be washed later, then selects a cookie and crams the entire thing into his mouth at once. _Ohhhhhhhh_, the cookies are good, too. Bucky starts filling the empty cookie tray with more balls of dough, using a round melon-baller to keep the size uniform. He scoops like a pro, making neat rows in rapid succession. As he works, he glances at Steve, still devouring his mouthful of cookie.

“So? What do you think?”

After savoring the cookie experience as much as is humanly possible, Steve swallows. “There are really no eggs in there? I can’t tell the difference from regular cookies.”

Bucky gives him a smug smirk. “No eggs. You like?”

“They’re terrific!” Steve points at the rest of the cookies on the rack and asks, “Can I please have another?”

Bucky chuckles as he picks up the un-baked tray and moves it to the oven. “Knock yourself out.”

As Steve gobbles another one down, Bucky sets the oven timer and turns, bracing his elbows on the counter to watch Steve enjoy his sweets. 

“How can they be so good without the eggs?”

Bucky grabs a cookie and holds it up. “Secret ingredient.”

After the second cookie, Steve’s discerning taste buds pick up more flavor. “Is it applesauce?”

Bucky, who already has his cookie in his mouth, frowns and mumbles around it, “I said _secret_ ingredient, Steve.”

“It’s applesauce, isn’t it,” Steve crows. He’s about ninety-eight percent sure.

Bucky deflates a little, chews and swallows. “Yes.”

Chuckling, Steve snags one more cookie from the rack. “Cheer up, you should be happy you got me to even _try_ raw cookie dough.”

“I am happy,” Bucky declares, wolfing down his second cookie. His eyes land on Steve’s mouth. “Kinda liked it more when you were sucking on that spoon, though. Sexy.” 

Steve raises his eyebrows as he finishes off his treat. He likes the direction this is going, so he tosses out an invitation. “Maybe I’m gonna have to find an appropriate way to thank you. How much time do we have till that next tray is done?”

A smile spreads across Bucky’s handsome face. “About nine minutes.”

\--

Eight minutes later, Steve has finished blowing Bucky in his bedroom. Lying on his back and panting, Bucky makes a pretty picture for Steve, who is down between his legs. Cracking a huge smile, Bucky picks up his head and looks down. 

“That was world class magnitude.” His hands gesture above his head in a vague circular motion. “One might even say galaxy-destroying.”

Steve’s eyebrows arch artistically. No one has described his blow jobs like that, but who doesn’t like being told they’re good at sex?

“Well then, consider that to be thanks in advance for the rest of the cookies I’m gonna eat,” he deadpans, pushing himself up to a stand and offering a hand, just in time for the alarm to start dinging in the kitchen. “And I may have to thank you a second time, later.”

Chuckling, Bucky allows Steve to pull him up off the bed. He slides one hand down over the front of Steve’s shorts and cups the semi he has going in his pants. 

“Or maybe I’ll have to take care of this for you,” he purrs, leaning in close. “Know what I like even more than your thank-you’s?”

“Cookie dough?” Steve hazards a guess in jest and waits for Bucky to answer, curious. 

“Making you come,” he whispers in a seductive tone. “I love watching you come for me.” 

He leans the rest of the way in and kisses Steve once with a slow press of lips but not a deep, lengthy kiss—there are cookies in the kitchen about to burn, after all. As he fastens his shorts Bucky rounds him and heads for the oven; Steve turns and follows, having to adjust himself once after all the blood in his body just rushed straight down to his groin. Sex with Bucky lights a fire in his shorts. Dirty talk can keep that fire going for days.

But while Bucky is open and giving when it comes to sex, he’s still a closed book when it comes to expressing deeper emotions. Steve has no doubt at all they are growing closer to each other, but closer as what? He’d like to think there’s more to their relationship than just being pals. More than friends with benefits. 

He feels it, deep down, in the way they both now assume that their weekend plans will include each other. In the way their other friends and family members (who they’ve met) accept the other’s presence as a natural, repeating occurrence in their lives. Bucky has quickly become the most important person in Steve’s life. He’s just not quite sure how important he is in Bucky’s. 

\--

After another few weeks have passed, they reach the end of phase one of their project. His team is pronounced winner of their bet, much to the dismay of Sam and Stephen, who were both equally certain of their own victories. Steve and his teammates plan their own little celebration at a nearby watering hole for after work later in the week. Their lunch that day, provided by Sam, Nat, Clint and Wanda, but almost solely decided upon in light of Sam’s lack of culinary diversity, is pizza. It’s really yummy pizza, though, so Steve definitely isn’t complaining. 

Lunch on the second day is provided by Stephen’s team, and since he and Bruce famously adore the sub sandwiches from a local place down the street, that morning they are presented with a menu so their order can be placed prior to lunchtime. When noon rolls around and Darcy is mysteriously absent from her desk, they set her roast beef sub next to her water bottle and dig into their own food. 

Steve’s meatball sub looks mouth-wateringly good; as he takes a big bite he looks over at Bucky, who appears to have a Club. Yelling down to Thor, Steve asks him, “What’d you get?”

“Ham and turkey!” Thor shouts, holding his sub up into view. “You guys?”

“Meatball.”

“Club, extra bacon,” Bucky calls out.

“Extra bacon?” Steve questions. 

He doesn’t have to raise his voice this time, since Bucky is right next to him, but Thor hears him anyway. He gives Bucky a thumbs up sign while speaking to the blond next to him. “Bacon makes everything better, you know that, Steve.”

“Words to live by,” Bucky jests. He nods in confirmation of this as he takes a giant bite of his lunch, making an _mmm_ sound as he does so. 

Thor speaks up again to ask, “Where’s Darcy?” while pointing at her empty place and untouched sandwich.

Sam spins around in his chair and pipes up to offer, “She, Wanda and Nat went down to the cafeteria. They’ll be back.”

“Didn’t forget about her sub, did she?” Bucky inquires in concern, chewing thoughtfully, and Sam’s dark head shakes. 

An abandoned sandwich is a serious matter, after all. Steve suspects it won’t take long for a wayward sub to find a new home, though, if push comes to shove. 

“No,” Sam answers. “The conversation they were having was more important than waiting for her sub to arrive, though.”

When the three ladies make it back to their department, Nat and Wanda have lunch items boxed up in styrofoam containers, while Darcy is empty-handed. Instead of heading to their desks, however, all three congregate in the center of the room, close to where Bucky sits near the door. 

“Huddle up, people, we have news,” Natasha states loudly, looking around the room. Everyone is present since they’d all ordered subs along with the winners of the bet. While the others either stand up and walk down or just roll closer while still seated in their desk chairs, Natasha dumps her food onto the island and leans one hip into it. Darcy is next to her so that they both face Steve and Bucky; she is the next to speak.

“We just saw Wade. There is now a ‘person of interest’ who will be interviewed later today.” 

“Person of interest. What is this, a TV crime show?” Peter cracks, but Steve isn’t laughing. 

Darcy appears nervous, chewing on her lower lip, and so does the normally unflappable Natasha. Wanda, who is already sensitive in nature, looks downright distraught, and the hairs on the back of Steve’s neck stand straight up. Person of interest? So it’s happened. Bucky is in danger. An ache forms in the pit of his stomach and he drops his meatball sub onto the plate on his desk, suddenly not hungry.

“You guys all look like your dog just died,” Stephen observes, echoing his thoughts. “Is it that bad?” 

Different thoughts roll through Steve's brain all at once. They can’t have rock-solid proof, or a disciplinary process would have been started, and they would’ve been informed about it. Right? Maybe this is a fishing expedition, nothing to worry about… 

“Maria would have told me if something big was going down,” Clint insists. “She promised.”

“Wade said there was another breach,” Wanda tells them grimly, lips pressed into a thin line. “Guess they got more information this time about the origin, and they’re moving fast on it. Tony is down there right now, getting updated by Fury.”

Clint’s phone buzzes where it sits on his desk. He picks it up and looks at it. “Shiiiiiiiit.” The phone is dropped back to the surface of his desk, landing with a dull thud. “That was her. She’s the one who found Tony in the cafeteria and took him down. He didn’t even get lunch, poor guy.”

Steve looks at Bucky. So Tony is involved. That makes it more serious. “You know Tony will go to bat for you.” 

Bucky opens his mouth to respond, but before he has a chance to, Darcy intervenes. “No, Steve, you don’t understand,” she says in an anxious voice, her normal pitch sounding even higher with distress. “The person of interest isn’t Bucky.”

She bites her lip and takes a step closer to him. “It’s you.”


	15. Pretending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is grilled by security and spends the rest of the week in denial. Which he's good at. But denial only goes so far with certain co-workers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to try and keep updating regularly, however next week I will be having some orthopedic surgery and will be down to one wing for a while. Planning on exploring the wonderful world of one-handed typing. Woo-hoo! :-) Stay safe out there, peeps!

Ch 15

The ache in Steve’s stomach has become a dull, steady throb while he is seated in the waiting area of their main security section, a recalcitrant Tony by his side. They are silent now, having exchanged quiet words already when his boss came back to their office to fetch him. Steve was relieved that Tony was supportive and confident, just like everyone else in the office, but the warm feeling it provided has already dissipated in the cold, stark security area. Steve looks around again, for lack of anything better to do. There are a few other chairs, no tables, no TV, nothing that a normal waiting room would have to lighten the mood or pass the time. 

Because this isn’t a normal waiting room. He’s never been down here before and hopes to never come back. The prickly sensation at the back of his neck won’t go away no matter how much he wills himself to relax. He hasn’t done anything wrong and told Tony as much, as if he needed to. His boss and friend assured him he didn’t need to prove anything, yet he still he can’t shake the fear that clings to him like a wet blanket.

What evidence could they have? Why do they think he’s involved in this? His blue eyes come to rest on Nick Fury’s door, which has been closed since he and Tony got there. There is a security guard sitting behind a desk with a wall of monitors in between him and them, which may as well be iron bars for how welcoming it appears. He had taken their names and made a short phone call to let Fury know they were there. Otherwise they’d had no conversation with him. Chatty guy. Steve rubs the top of his knees and Tony catches the movement out of the corner of his eye. 

“Steve, we will prove your innocence. I promise you, I’m not letting you go without a fight, okay?”

“Thanks, Tony.” Steve smiles nervously. “Fight or no fight, I don’t want to be let go, period.”

“Understood. Not gonna let that happen.”

Fury’s door opens and the man himself steps out into the hallway, beckoning to them. Together he and Tony rise and walk back to the inner office. Steve tells himself for the umpteenth time to settle down, that it’s just a misunderstanding that they’ll clear up in no time. While this seems like a good plan in theory, it turns out to be completely wrong. 

As soon as the door shuts behind them and they take seats opposite Nick and his giant desk, he opens the conversation without preamble. 

“So, Mr. Rogers, we have some questions about recent, unauthorized computer activity that require forthright answers. The more truthful you are, the easier this will go.”

He leans back in his chair and steeples his fingers together.

“Steve, please,” Steve says, right off the bat. The formality of being called Mr. Rogers only adds to his anxiety. “I’ll do my best to answer your questions, but I have no idea what computer activity you are talking about.”

“Lines of code from your desktop say otherwise,” is Fury’s blunt response.

Tony butts in at this point. “I know I said this to you already, but I want it on the record now that Steve is a valued employee who has my full trust and confidence. We’d like to see whatever information you have you think incriminates him.”

Fury’s eyes flick back and forth between Steve and his boss as the latter speaks, and the intensity of his gaze is unnerving. The only thing missing here is a single, naked lightbulb suspended from the ceiling over their heads, burning with accusation. When Tony falls silent Fury remains so as well, square chin set determinedly. Seconds tick by and if the silence stretches out any longer Steve fears he will erupt with nervous giggles just to break it—it’s almost a relief when Fury speaks again. 

But then it’s not a relief, because he launches a barrage of questions, one after another, taking notes on a laptop in front of him. Steve hardly has time to think about one response before another rapid-fire query comes at him, and he can’t help but feel Fury is trying to catch him in some sort of lie. He has no lies to tell, but that doesn’t alleviate his nervousness. Nick Fury, head of Cyber Security, is nothing if not thorough. 

Steve is asked about his work habits, about who else has access to his computer station and name badge, whether or not he takes work home, his knowledge of computer security, his knowledge of the work projects in other departments…and that’s just to warm up. They then move onto the contents of his hard drive, what information he has downloaded recently, and his contacts with employees from other companies or employees from other branches within Jarvis. 

He is even asked if he is happy with his employment…seriously, what kind of question is that? Even if he hated it there, would he really SAY he hated it there? Steve answers truthfully that he has always been very happy at Jarvis, and all Fury does is squint at him. Every subject under the sun is touched upon…everything aside from what the actual evidence is that throws suspicion onto Steve. That is avoided completely. They’ve been there for an hour when Fury eventually brings up Bucky’s name. 

“I understand you do have a newer employee in your department.” Fury consults his computer. “James Barnes. How would you characterize your relationship with him?”

“Excuse me, what?” Steve shifts uncomfortably in his chair. Why is he asking about Bucky? Does he think they’re somehow in cahoots? Does security extend to surveillance outside of their building? Steve has a panicked moment of _Big Brother is watching_ before he realizes he’s freaking out without reason. 

His comfort level is also dropping rapidly because at this moment he _really_ has to take a leak. Stuff like that tends to interfere with his concentration—but he expects leaving the room now will somehow increase his appearance of guilt, so instead he holds it. Wretchedly. 

After getting no immediate response from Steve, Fury waves his hand in the air. “Would you say friendly? Adversarial? Generally speaking.”

“We have a good working relationship. Everyone in our department gets along well.” Steve hopes he sounds convincing, and that his voice isn’t getting higher the longer he holds his pee.

“One big happy family, eh? So you haven’t observed any unusual behavior or activity from Mr. Barnes or any of your co-workers?”

“No!” Steve says defiantly. So now he’s supposed to throw someone else under the bus to take the heat off himself? What kind of a dick does Fury think he is?

Tony huffs out a breath. “What are you suggesting, Nick?”

The security officer is too cagey to get pinned down, though. “I’m not suggesting anything at this point, Tony,” he answers, eyes wide, as if the remark had been careless rather than a carefully constructed one. 

“Then what the hell are we doing here, playing twenty questions?” Tony spits out. To this point he had remained relatively quiet, but Steve hears his annoyance start to bleed into his tone. Tony drops a hand on the table in fatigue. “You still haven’t told us _anything._ Doesn’t Steve have a right to know exactly what he’s being accused of?”

Steve looks across the desk. Nick Fury’s mouth presses itself into a thin line. He doesn’t look pleased at Tony’s question, but after a moment of consideration he does answer it. 

“Data with certain commercial value has been inappropriately downloaded and the origin traced, convoluted as it was, to the terminal on this man’s desk.” Steve feels like his heartbeat has been put on pause and Fury’s eyes burn into his as he continues. “We can’t ignore that.”

Inhaling sharply, Steve, asks, “Am I being suspended? FIRED?”

Fury shakes his head. “We considered suspension.” He holds up his hand as Tony opens his mouth to refute him. “Considered it. We are not taking that action, and are examining other possibilities… malware, keylogging and the like. We’ll let you know our findings.” His sharp eyes narrow to mere slits. “However, we do ask that you please do not discuss this with anyone outside your department. Also, restrict your computer usage to what is absolutely essential to perform your job tasks.” 

“We already do that,” Tony informs him in a clipped voice and shifts impatiently in his seat. “We done here?”

Tony Stark may be middle management, but his mind and body are fit, despite the number of meetings he sits through on a regular basis. Steve knows his restlessness stems from anger, not boredom. Fury stares, not exactly in a hostile way, more like he’s taking their measure, and Tony stubbornly stares right back, without backing down one iota. Steve loves him for it. 

“Yes,” Fury enunciates succinctly. “If we need to speak to anyone else, we’ll be in touch. Thanks for coming down.”

Tony bounces out of his seat like his ass is on fire, but before they exit the office he turns and informs his security friend, “I want to know about it beforehand if you need to speak to anyone else in my department…and that means more than two minutes beforehand, okay Nick? They can probably hear my stomach growling five doors down.”

“Sure thing, Tony,” Nick says, quite affably.

Steve barely hears his reply, though, because he hotfoots it out of there. Not only does he not want to spend one extra second down in that dungeon, he REALLY needs to get to a bathroom before his bladder explodes. No way he’s using the bathroom in the security area, though, so they head back up to their own office. Steve is just about to break the sound barrier streaking down the hallway when Tony attempts to stop him to speak to him.

“Steve,” he starts, then calls out his name with more decibels when his breakneck speed doesn’t change. “STEVE!”

Turning but not stopping, Steve replies, “Tony, jeez, I’m gonna wet myself in about five seconds…”

“Well, I know that was nerve-wracking, but hold on just a second,” his boss insists, and Steve shakes his head vehemently.

“Tony, I gotta PEE!”

Tony’s eyes widen and he snorts a laugh out his nose. “Oh! Well why didn’t you say so?” he teases, matching Steve’s Mach two pace as he barrels down to the men’s bathroom located close to their department. 

He waits for him out in the hallway and when Steve emerges, feeling significantly better, accompanies him the rest of the way back. 

“I know Nick raked you over the coals pretty good there, and it was probably hard to think clearly,” Tony states. “So if you think of anything else that could be useful, please, tell me at once.”

“What kind of things?” Steve whisper-yells. “I don’t know what the hell is going on!”

Grimacing, Tony stops him just short of the door to their office. “Steve, someone is setting you up. Someone within the company, maybe. Do you know anyone who would want to do that?”

“No!” 

Honestly, Steve is bewildered. Who would want to incriminate him in this? Why? Shit like this isn’t a joke and can have very serious consequences. He doesn’t feel like he has any enemies here. Tony regards him, rubbing his short, dark goatee with one hand. 

“Maybe it’s just a crime of opportunity, then. Your credentials were stolen, copied, something, not maliciously, just randomly.”

Steve’s broad shoulders sag. “You think it’s my fault? That I was careless?”

“No, no, no!” Tony grasps his shoulder. “That’s not what I’m saying. Criminals look for openings, you know? They found one. It happened to be you. Could have been any one of us.”

“That’s not really making me feel better, Tony.”

“Sorry, bud. I’ll work on my delivery.”

With a tug on his arm, Tony pulls him forward and they return to their own department. Pretty much everyone inside has been waiting for them and they all look up eagerly when the door opens. Tony manages to escape with a muttered notion of “talking to some contacts,” so Steve is immediately pounced upon. 

Before he can even sit down at his desk he is peppered with more questions. This time, however, they are well-meaning. Everybody wants to know the details of the meeting, so Steve does his best to reproduce the important bits. Instinctively he keeps sneaking peeks at the two men he is closest to, Sam and Bucky, seeking out reinforcement and comfort. They don’t let him down, though they do respond in different ways. While Bucky’s eyes are soft and compassionate, Sam is belligerently offended on his behalf.

“They got a lot of nerve trying to pin this on you, after you’ve been with the company for so long!” he rages.

As far as a response to the situation from his co-workers goes, Steve finds there are three main camps. The first, consisting of Sam, Clint, and Natasha, bristles with a general feeling of pissed-off-ness over Steve being blamed. The second camp, consisting of Bucky, Darcy and Wanda, is mainly sympathetic, and while their attentiveness does make Steve feel the best emotionally as he recovers from his interrogation, the rational side of his brain admits that the third camp may help him the most. 

Stephen, Bruce, Peter, Thor and Scott make up this slightly larger and more pragmatic group. They are more curious, searching for information on the data breach itself and how Steve has been linked to it. More importantly, how they can prove that Steve _isn’t_ linked to it. He answers their questions with difficulty, not realizing how stressed out he was during the session until he finds he can’t recall Fury’s exact words on some points. 

“Tony thought maybe someone copied my credentials,” he says uncertainly, brow furrowing in concentration. 

“Did Fury say that specifically?” Bruce wants to know, leaning in from where he sits on top of the island near Steve’s desk. 

“Umm…” Steve tries to think. “No. He said something about tracing the download to my desktop.” 

Bruce, Stephen and Thor all exchange significant looks between themselves and then lob technical questions at each other rather than at Steve, which is a good thing since Steve has no fucking clue what they’re talking about. A good deal of initials get bandied about, like MitM’s and VPN’s and IDS’s; Steve gathers they are talking about computer hacking, and also gathers they must have already been conversing about this in his absence. He himself is not the most tech savvy guy, despite having to work with technological shit every day. 

Steve just likes to build robots. 

“Are you guys going to explain this to me at some point?” he asks plaintively, and all of them nod affirmatively.

“While you were down there we started talking about what we could do,” Bruce explains.

Peter picks up his train of thought. “And how we can clear your name.”

Stephen squints at Clint. “We’re going to need your friend in security to give us more information.”

The heavy feeling in Steve’s chest lightens by just a hair as the discussion proceeds and Clint nods back. “Anything.”

Steve has the _best_ co-workers. 

“We’re still going out Friday night, right?” Thor prods gently. “It’ll be good for you.”

Steve makes a doubtful face, thinking privately that staying home and wallowing in some self-pity for the rest of eternity sounds like an equally good idea, but Natasha won’t hear of it.

“We’re ALL going out,” she says firmly. “After a day like today, alcohol is required to end the week.”

_Amen to that_, Steve thinks. She’s probably right on that score. A long, stressful week stretches out in front of him and it might be nice to have something to look forward to. And a goodly amount of alcohol, that might help, too.

\--

As it turns out, not everyone can make it to the restaurant bar with them, but Steve doesn’t mind. With such a large group, it would have been uncommonly rare if _no one_ had made previous plans for the weekend. So it’s Steve’s teammates (Bucky, Darcy and Thor) plus Tony, Natasha, Sam, Clint, and Wanda.

They choose a sprawling sports bar and restaurant that is hosting trivia night, because _ of course_ they can’t resist a little healthy competition, and all pile into a huge circular-shaped booth with burgundy-colored leather cushions. Steve is pressed in tightly between Thor and Tony, almost directly opposite Sam and Bucky. The restaurant, too, is crowded and the mood boisterous, which helps to lift his spirits.

The ground rule set down immediately by him is that they will NOT discuss the issue with Cyber Security. The only acceptable shop talk is to celebrate their team win. In fact, Steve hasn’t been talking about the issue at all. With anyone. Not even Bucky, and they talk about _everything_. Twice Bucky had pressed him point blank about it, if he was alright, if he needed anything, and Steve put him off with an “I’m fine” and a stiff upper lip. 

It’s not that he doesn’t trust Bucky…Steve has spent his entire life priding himself on his self-sufficiency, and he’s not about to start whining to anyone else about his problems now. What good would it do to dredge that shit up over and over without good reason? Dwell on what you can’t change? He answered questions Bruce and Stephen had about the tech side of things but avoided getting into emotional territory completely. 

But the truth of it is, he’s worried. He can’t stop being worried, he discovers, even when he’s trying as hard as he can. And the loneliness of his decision to keep everything bottled up is starting to creep in. There hasn’t even been any hanky-panky this week to distract him. Not because Bucky wasn't available--mostly because Steve has been hiding himself away in the evenings, wallowing in the afore-mentioned self-pity and generally feeling helpless. 

Not that he’s shared any of those feelings, either. He’s been putting on a brave face at work, using Sam’s indignation and anger as a temporary shield. And by internalizing everything, his resentment towards the entire security department has only grown over the work week. So FUCK Nick Fury and FUCK whoever is the real culprit and FUCK industrial espionage in general.

_Probably not quite the right attitude to have,_ he tells himself. They’re just doing their jobs, too, and he needs them to help clear his own name. He has to depend on the very people accusing him of wrong-doing to clear him of wrong-doing. How messed up is that? In his head he’s been going round and round and round with how he should feel, and he’s tired of it. 

Hence his ground rule. No one will challenge him on it just yet, he figures, not even Bucky. He’s been watching Steve, he can feel it, but at the same time keeping a safe distance. That won’t last forever, but for now they’ll all let him call the shots, even if the isolation isn’t good for him. 

He’s right, but only to a point. His friends do an excellent job staying off the forbidden topic, at least until after the first round of trivia is over and a few drinks have been imbibed. It’s then, while they await the start of the second round, that the rule is broken. Sam, of course, is the transgressor.

“Tony,” he whines, “Can’t you pull some strings or something and get Cyber off Steve’s back already? I haven’t seen him this grouchy since the Mars rover died.”

Chuckling a little, Tony shakes his head. “It’s not that easy,” he tells them, glancing at Steve first with a sympathetic look on his face. “But I am working on it.”

A sour feeling churns in Steve’s innards and he pushes his dinner plate away from himself, sighing. He knows Sam means well and if he was completely sober he wouldn’t have pushed, but damnit, before that moment he had _almost_ been able to forget about Cyber completely. Was that too much to ask for one night? Bringing the subject up now is kind of a gut punch. 

“We’re not supposed to be talking about this! Steve wants his space to process,” Wanda reminds them, her dark eyes kind. 

Natasha agrees, tossing her red hair over her shoulder and lifting her beer. “Wanda, you know we only agreed to that to placate him,” she hums, smiling indulgently at him. “But we ARE supposed to be toasting their team win.” 

Giving them both a grateful smile, Steve lifts his beer as well, along with everyone else. There are several toasts made in honor of their team and Thor gives him a thorough head noogie, after which he feels like he needs a moment to go clear his abused head (and fix his hair). Giving Tony a nudge with his elbow, he tells him he’s gotta use the john before trivia starts, and everyone on that end slides out to allow his escape from the booth. 

It’s a walk to get to the bathrooms from their table, and around a corner and through a mess of additional tables. Several large potted plants further conceal the broad, wooden staircase that eventually leads to the restrooms themselves. _Good thing it wasn’t an emergency_, Steve thinks. The extra time does give him a breather, for all the good it does. 

After he’s finished using the facilities he is on his way back down the bottom of the staircase when he spies Bucky, coming from the direction of their table. Figuring his companion just wants to empty his tank as well, Steve smiles but is prepared to let him pass by. Instead, Bucky takes him by the arm and pulls him aside, behind one of the giant potted plants. It effectively shields them from sight of any other casual passersby. 

“Are you okay?” he asks. The look of concern on his face is touching and even Steve feels a pang of regret upon seeing it. Being the selfless shmuck that he is, he then feels bad for making Bucky worry about him. However, the desire to put up a brave front is still strong.

“I’m fine,” he rushes to reassure him for the umpteenth time, but Bucky’s expression doesn’t change. 

“Yeah, that’s what you said already, but are you _really?_ Because you’ve seemed rattled all week. And you’ve avoided talking about this at _all_. With anyone, even Sam and me.”

Yeah. Avoiding talking about it has been working so far, so why change? So what if the weight of depression and anxiety are starting to crush him? Steve keeps his silence for the moment, staring into those gorgeous, grey-blue eyes, and finally his resolve weakens. Alright, so maybe avoiding the subject isn’t working _completely_. He bites his lip. Bucky watches and waits for him to crumble. Damn him. After an unsuccessful attempt to school his face into some sort of happy-go-lucky expression, Steve gives in to his secondary impulse. The one that tells him to spill his guts. 

“Alright, you win,” he admits, leaning back against the wall behind him. “I’m a little rattled. A lot rattled. Miserable, actually.” He runs a hand through his hair in agitation, but now that Bucky has forced his hand, he finds he really does want to talk. And Bucky’s full attention is on him; he’s ready and willing to listen.

“It’s like Fury already thinks I’m guilty, like he can’t wait to fire me. For a minute I thought they _were_ going to fire me,” Steve confesses. “And I don’t know what to do about it, that’s the worst part. I don’t know how to fix this.”

Bucky’s head shakes sympathetically. “Steve, I’m so, so sorry. Why wouldn’t you tell me that sooner?”

“Didn’t want anyone to worry about me.”

The furrows in Bucky’s brow are deep, and he looks away from Steve, still shaking his head. “But I am worried about you. I…” he starts, then his speech drops off. Steve has the feeling he wants to say something else, but is reluctant to bring it up.

“Buck, what is it? You don’t seem yourself, either.” 

Taking a breath, Bucky starts again, still looking somewhere over Steve’s shoulder. “I was hoping, hoping, hoping I wasn’t going to be named in the investigation, but I never wanted...I didn’t want _you_ to be named, either. I just feel awful.”

“Do you feel _guilty_?” Steve gasps. He looks over his own shoulder as a noisy gaggle of women pass by, giggling but not paying any attention to the two men tucked away behind a potted palm. 

“Buck, don’t! Please don’t.” Steve chases his eyes until he finds Bucky’s again. He can see the remorse in them, and it tugs at his heartstrings. “I don’t want you going through this, either. It’s not your fault any of it is going on. You don’t have to feel guilty for being _innocent_.”

Bucky grasps his arm with one hand. “No, stop. Don’t worry about _me_. Crap, that's why I wasn't going to tell you that." He gives his arm a little jiggle, as if to shake sense into him through it. “It’s so selfish to think of myself right now when you’re the one in trouble. I’m supposed to be comforting you, not the other way around.”

“I’m fine,” Steve says out of habit, then affects a contrite look when Bucky releases his arm and calls him out.

“We’ve already established that you’re not really fine. You don’t have to pretend with me.”

Another pang of regret lodges itself in Steve’s gut. Damn Bucky, with those luminous eyes and his sympathetic stance. All Steve’s been doing is pretending…pretending not to have the feelings for him that he’s definitely having. Pretending he’s fine with being friends. But the pretending Bucky is referring to—not letting on how upset he really is—maybe he doesn’t have to do that. Maybe he wouldn’t feel so down if he hadn’t been trying to shoulder the burden all alone. Maybe he can let Bucky in, just a little. All of those thoughts flash through his mind in an instant, and the realization allows him to drop his guard. 

“Well, maybe I could use a _little_ comforting,” he allows.

Bucky straightens. “We are going to do _everything_ we have to, to prove your innocence, you know that, right? We’re not just leaving this up to those security assholes.”

_Oh._ Steve’s eyes drop to the floor. He knows that. Everyone has been saying it, and while it’s nice to hear again, it wasn’t quite what he meant. His feeling of loneliness intensifies and he senses that invisible barrier between them, the one he’s not sure how to breach. The barrier of not knowing how Bucky really feels about him. 

“Yeah. I know. I meant…nevermind,” he mumbles. _You want too much. You ask too much. _

But instead of backing off, Bucky steps closer and lifts Steve’s chin with his fingertips. 

“I wasn’t done yet,” he whispers, and kisses him softly and slowly. 

He kisses Steve’s mouth. His cheek. His temple. His lips are sweet and gentle, brushing over Steve's skin so lightly it gives him goose bumps. Fuck, he hasn't let Bucky near him all week. With equally gentle hands and arms Bucky collects him, bringing his body the rest of the way in. He tucks Steve’s face into the crook of his neck and rests his chin on the top of his head, hugging him close. Warmth suffuses Steve’s strong but weary body. 

_This_. This is what he meant. What he needed and wanted. He just didn’t know he could ask for it. 

“You don’t have to go it alone, you know,” Bucky rumbles quietly. “I’m here. Let me be here for you.” 

Steve tightens his grip around Bucky’s waist, closes his eyes and sighs. “Thanks, Buck. I needed this.”

“Anytime. You stubborn idiot.”

“Takes one to know one,” Steve murmurs into his shoulder.

He can feel Bucky’s smile. “Snappy comeback. I should take notes.”

“Okay,” Steve mumbles back. “Just don’t use my desktop. It won’t go well.”

Bucky’s deep chuckle reverberates in his chest. “There’s the Steve I know.”

“I won’t leave again.” 

“Can’t,” Bucky breathes and kisses the top of his head. “I know where you live.”

_Thank God for small favors._ Steve smiles and burrows deeper into Bucky’s embrace.


	16. Who's A Dumbass?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve, avoiding his feelings, Bucky being an understanding sweetie, and the return of Wade, hot security guard extraordinaire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So typing with one hand is really, really awful. On the plus side, I'll be out of my sling soon. :D Hope you're all still staying safe!

Ch 16

Steve’s face is still buried in Bucky’s shoulder as they hide behind the potted palm in their restaurant, and he’s starting to think he’s hung on too long when Bucky asks quietly, “So what are you doing after trivia? Want to come over and veg out in front of the TV till we fall asleep?”

This may seem like boring fare, but after the shit week Steve’s had, getting chummy with Bucky on his couch is just what the doctor ordered. Since Bucky has let him cling silently to him for a good minute here without pressing him for more details on his emotional status, Steve decides to risk it. 

Nodding against Bucky’s shirt, he replies, “Sounds fun.”

The arms around him tighten by a hair. “No pressure. We won’t even fool around if you don’t want to.”

“What about kissing?”

It slips out of Steve’s mouth, a half-teasing, offhand remark mumbled into a broad shoulder, but Bucky pulls back enough to look him in the eye.

“What _about_ kissing?” His voice has gone all soft, and Steve’s heart skips a couple of beats. 

Bucky is looking at him like…like Steve doesn’t _know_ what, like Bucky can see right through him, and now Steve is thinking the same thing—what ABOUT kissing? Why did he bring that up? When they are together they do make out a lot—before, during, and after sex. The key word there is sex. Canoodling that isn’t part of foreplay would involve a definite seismic shift in their relationship. It’s one that Steve desperately craves, of course, but not one he’s ever verbalized to his partner. 

Should he tell this to Bucky right now? That when they are kissing, it’s the highlight of his day? That what he yearns for more than anything is to be able to show his affection for Bucky just for the sake of showing affection? He can still feel the tender touches Bucky had placed on his cheek and mouth a moment ago. What did it mean? Just comfort? More? He wants so desperately to believe it means more. Wants to tell Bucky just how much that intimacy means to _him_. 

His desire for a deeper, more meaningful relationship with his fuck buddy wells up and hits him full force, like getting punched in the gut. If there was ever a perfect moment to confess his feelings now might fit the bill, with Bucky holding him, just looking at him with those eyes and waiting for an answer. _I want to kiss you even when we’re not fooling around. Say it._ And while the war between his emotions rages on inside him, he’s acutely aware of Bucky’s arms around him. How close their bodies are. How easy it would be to press their lips together and never stop. 

He’s about two seconds away from spitting out the rest of the truth he’s been concealing when he remembers why he was concealing it in the first place. Bucky’s previous declaration of not being ready for a relationship echoes in his head, and the fear of ruining their friendship, or any chance he has with him in the future, holds him back. His nerves are jangling all over his body, but he can’t get around his doubts, and the moment slips away.

“Uh…we…just kissed. Tiny kisses…they technically don’t count as fooling around, right?” he jokes, keeping his tone light and pulling away to end their embrace.

Bucky drops his arms and smiles enigmatically at him. Whether or not he’s disappointed in Steve’s answer, he can’t tell, but they fall back into their familiar banter without missing a beat. The banter of friends who are more than just friends, but also not _together_. Not in the way Steve wants. 

“Technically, I think it depends on whether or not we’re naked at the time.”

That gets Steve to smile in return, despite the residual pang of pain in his chest that came with holding back. “But it’s still just kissing, either way.”

“_Just_ kissing?” Bucky repeats dramatically. “I think you’re downplaying your skill in that department.”

Steve actually blushes at that. Bucky is good at making him feel comfortable again, not awkward about the way things are. “Well, I am a big fan of kissing.” 

“Yeah?” Bucky turns toward the staircase and hall, purposefully bumping his shoulder against Steve’s. “I’m a big fan of lots of things you can do with your mouth.”

“I’m vaguely familiar with this concept,” Steve replies, grin widening. “Now we’d better get back before Sam sends out a search party.”

“Come on,” Bucky agrees, motioning with his head in the direction of the dining area. Steve follows, happy to have made plans with him for later, but at the same time his regret stings him like pinpoints in a hundred different places. 

\--

“Here she comes.”

“She looks pissed off.”

“I’ve been gone all day. This could get ugly.” Bucky, wearing his most serious expression, turns to Steve, sitting next to him on his couch. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Steve holds up the two items in his hands: feathers on the end of a tiny fishing pole, and a toy mouse stuffed with catnip.

Jasmine, Bucky’s voluminously fluffy grey cat, prowls closer to him from the other end of the couch. Her long whiskers quiver once before she makes her approach. 

“Hey Jazzy,” Steve whispers softly, holding up the feathers for inspection. 

She has grown so accustomed to his presence that she no longer hesitates when she sees him, knowing he is a willing participant in playtime activity. One paw shoots out and bats at the brightly colored feathers; Steve gives the stick a few good shakes and she attacks, closing both front paws around the toy and mouthing at it with enthusiasm. 

Bucky chuckles. “Crisis averted.”

“Yeah, that was easier than I thought it would be.” 

Though Steve has no pet at home he’s not opposed to them, and in his opinion Jazzy is a pretty cool cat. He likes the deep purring sounds she makes when she is content, and she hardly ever interrupts them when they’re in the sack. But cat litter and hairballs…no thank you. After watching her for a few moments, Steve glances back at Bucky when he hears him shift positions.

“Okay, c’mere. Time for some cuddle therapy,” Bucky says, sliding sideways onto the end of the sofa and tapping the empty space now in front of him and between his long legs, bare and tan in his cargo shorts. 

Steve doesn’t have to be asked twice. He follows suit, sliding over to put his back against Bucky’s chest. Jasmine comes with him, still chomping on her cat toy. 

Bucky waits for Steve to settle and adds, “I know you don’t want to talk about it now, but when you want to, I’m here.” 

Steve relaxes back into him. “Thanks, Buck.”

A companionable silence ensues. No, he doesn’t want to talk about it. Any of it. Work, their relationship, whatever. He just wants to be _still_. The lines between friend and lover and soulmate have all blurred in his mind, and emotionally he can only tackle one problem at a time. If Bucky’s offering pure comfort with no strings attached, he’ll take it. 

The television is on, as promised. Sitting together is soothing and peaceful, just like the hug at the restaurant, and Steve feels the tension start to drain out of him. One of Bucky’s arms rests on top of the couch, while he holds the remote control in the other hand. As he flips channels, looking for something good, Steve gives the feathers an occasional twitch to keep the kitty entertained. They don’t have to talk much; just the rhythmic motion of Bucky’s breathing behind him calms Steve, while his warmth surrounds him, lulling him to contentment. 

“This is nice,” Steve states dreamily.

“Better than cuddling with Sam?”

Smiling, Steve nods but doesn’t turn his head. “Yeah, Sam gets pissy when I try to snuggle with him.”

The body behind him jerks a little as Bucky snorts out a laugh. “I’ll expect a glowing recommendation on my yearly performance review, then.”

“Top marks, promise.”

They watch the end of a movie and the news, and even though Steve thought he wasn’t in the mood for sex, he still thinks about it once or twice. He doesn’t follow up on those thoughts, though. They don’t do any kissing, either, but he thinks about that more than once or twice. Mostly he just unwinds, maybe for the first time that week. By the end of the night, both men are sleepy. Jasmine had disappeared with the catnip mouse long ago. Steve stands and stretches his arms to the ceiling, then turns to Bucky, who has also risen. He’s rubbing his butt, which is likely as numb as Steve’s is. 

“Seriously, Buck,” Steve starts. “Thank you for this, and for not giving me a lot of shit.”

Giving him a look like he’s being stupid, Bucky waves his hand. “Told you I’m here for you, whatever you need. Feel better?”

“Yeah, I do,” Steve states, realizing as he says so that he really _does_ feel better. Cuddle therapy for the win. If only the rest of his life was so easy to figure out. 

\--

The next several days don’t bring any new developments in the security issue at work, but that doesn’t stop Steve’s paranoia from growing. All week long he swears whenever he sees security personnel in the building they’re giving him suspicious looks. Sam insists he’s being overly dramatic. 

“Did you see that?” Steve hisses under his breath as he, Sam and Bucky are walking down a hallway. “He just said something into his walkie-talkie while he was staring at me.”

They are headed for the cafeteria mid-day to have lunch. Steve is _positive_ that security guard was making hard eye contact even as he dipped his chin down to speak into the walkie hooked to his shirt pocket. 

Sam sighs heavily. “Steve, for real, would you relax? You’re imagining things.”

Bucky gives him a sympathetic glance. “I’m sure they have better things to do than to report on where you eat lunch. It was probably a coincidence.”

They pass the guard and Steve subconsciously smooths down his shirt with his palms. It’s one of his favorites, a tan checkered pattern. It’s not the color he likes so much—the shirt is in really soft material that gives him warm fuzzies. He stops himself short of wringing his hands together and averts his eyes, focusing on Bucky instead. He’s got on a green and blue striped shirt that is also one of Steve’s favorites, because it brings out the blue in his eyes. 

Bucky’s gait includes an easy, confident set of his broad shoulders, and it helps Steve center himself. Yeah, they’re probably right. Why would security care about him walking through the building? Stupid. 

They grab lunch on trays and find an empty table in the busy room, away from the hot sun coming in from the bank of windows on one side. Summer is in full swing now, and their initial talk is about their golfing plans for the weekend. Sam is relaying their tee time when Steve is approached by another member of their blue-uniformed security team. 

“Steve, can I talk to you for a second?”

Taken by surprise, Steve startles a little and looks up. Wade stands nearby, a polite distance so as not to intrude more than he needs to. 

“Um, of course.” Cutting his eyes momentarily to his lunch companions, he looks back at the handsome guard. “Do you want to sit down, or?”

He leaves the end of the sentence open, in case he wants to talk in private. Apparently that's not the case, because Wade nods gratefully, sinking down into the empty chair at their table. 

Steve waits for him to situate himself in the chair before asking, “How are you?”

As far as his experience with security goes, Wade has been the exception to the rule. Steve has never felt his gaze to be unfriendly or judgmental; he’s been wondering if that’s because the man showed personal interest in him previously, but he doesn’t want to ask. And he has no clue what prompted him to come over now. His stomach twinges nervously as he waits to find out. 

“I’m good, yeah,” Wade starts, then pauses. He rests his arms on the table, then changes his mind and puts his hands in his lap. “Look, we’re not supposed to talk about this,” he begins again, voice low, “But I wanted to tell you not everyone in security thinks you’re guilty, okay?”

Steve feels his cheeks flame red. Of course Wade _knows_, everyone in security probably does. It would have been less embarrassing if he’d come over and asked him out again. 

“You might be alone in that thinking,” he mumbles, then remembers his manners. “But thank you, I appreciate that.”

Wade’s face is solemn as he replies, “The investigation is far from over, so have faith.”

Sam _tssk’s_ next to him impatiently and drops a French fry onto his plate. “Faith? He’s getting railroaded, and you want him to have faith?” 

Wade lifts his hands. “Look, we’re doing all we can. We’ve been super busy with the new security installations, and…”

Bucky interrupts both Wade and his own bite into his burrito to ask sharply, “What security installations?”

Wade pauses and presses his lips together as if he said too much, then seems to come to a decision. He looks from Bucky to Sam to Steve, and leans in over the table, dropping his voice even lower. Steve fights the impulse to lean in over the table as well, so as not to look suspicious, but his heartbeat has certainly quickened. Sam is not so subtle. He’s practically in Wade’s face, eyes wide, while Bucky watches with rapt attention, burrito forgotten.

“I’m definitely not supposed to tell you this, but I feel for your situation, so keep it private,” he states, looking at Steve. “We’ve been installing a shit-ton more cameras inside the building, rather than just outside.”

All three men stare with mouths dropping slightly open. Sam is the first to get words out. “What do you mean, inside the building? You’re spying on all of us?”

“No, not like that. Monitoring for any unauthorized access from within.”

Sam speaks again, his voice a little higher in pitch this time. “You’re watching us inside our _offices_?”

“No, no, no,” Wade clarifies, shaking his head. “Common spaces...hallways, stairwells. No sound, just video.”

Steve has just managed to overcome his muteness. “Why? If cameras outside don’t help, why watch the hallways?”

Wade shrugs a bit. “As I explained to Darcy and Nat, our security has always been focused more on external threats. This should help identify internal threats more readily. After the breaches, we went over security tapes with a fine-tooth comb, looking for a break-in of some sort that didn’t trip alarms. Nada.” He leans back heavily in his chair. His eyes cut to Steve again and then away. “We all take our jobs seriously and don’t like feeling like someone’s gotten the best of us.” 

Steve’s mind is racing. If a thief was indeed using his computer station and there was no evidence of a break-in, then that was another indicator of an inside job. _They think it’s me,_ his brain helpfully provides. _Except for Wade._ The presence of cameras inside the building, though unnerving, could be useful in proving his innocence—if that thief sneaks into their office again when it’s unoccupied. But what if that doesn’t happen?

Steve shakes his head to himself. Either way, he owes Wade his thanks for taking the time to tell them this. He’s just about to open his mouth to offer them when another thought strikes him. Looking down at the empty table in front of the security guard, he asks, “Did you come down here for lunch, Wade?”

“No, my lunch doesn’t start for another hour.” 

“So you came down just to talk to Steve? How’d you know he’d be here?” Bucky asks, face devoid of emotion. 

Wade smiles a bit and looks directly at Steve as he answers Bucky’s question. “Like I said, not everyone thinks he’s guilty.” 

“That’s awfully…nice of you,” Bucky responds cagily. His expression is still impartial, but Steve suspects more is going on under the surface—and wonders what exactly that is. 

The metal legs of the chair Wade sits on scrape as he pushes it back and stands. “Here to help.”

“Thank you, really,” Steve says earnestly. “That’s good to know.”

Wade smiles at him, a bright, sunny affair that reminds him of the day in their office when he was flirting with Steve over their new ID’s. Their eye contact lasts a split second longer than it needs to, and Sam clears his throat noisily. This prompts Wade to take his leave, with a friendly wave of his hand.

After he strides away, Sam wags his head in Steve’s direction. “You thank him any more obviously and you’re gonna have to sleep with him.”

“What?” Steve cries. “I was just being polite.” He looks from Sam, who appears amused by this, to Bucky, who appears decidedly NOT amused, and back to Sam quickly, not willing to even try to decipher what that look meant. Mentally he files that away for later examination. “Besides, what does that matter?” he continues. “Maybe these cameras will help prove I didn’t do it.”

The amusement drops from his buddy’s face. “I don’t know about that.” His head jerks in the direction of the now-disappearing security guard. “He’s not cyber. All his lot is worried about is the physical side of things, but hackers don't have to be in the building to hack.”

Steve frowns, though he knows Sam is right, and shifts his eyes to Bucky. Now if it had been Clint sitting there with them, there would absolutely have been a joke following that comment about Steve and Wade getting physical. However, since it’s Bucky, none comes. In fact, he stands abruptly instead, muttering something about needing to grab a drink to go and skittering away from their table. 

Sam and Steve both watch him go. Steve is thinking about putting this in a box for later scrutiny as well when Sam turns his attention back to him.

“So, how long have you two been getting it on?”

Steve involuntarily yelps and fumbles with the pizza slice in his hand. “What?”

“That whole interaction was totally weird and can mean only one thing,” he insists, dark head nodding. “There’s sex involved. Since we’re not doing it, it means you two are a thing now. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Steve has two choices here. Sam clearly is not going to fall for a denial of any involvement between them, so he can either come completely clean, or feed him a line about them just being friends with benefits. He grapples with this for a moment, swallowing hard, and checks to make sure the coast is clear. No Bucky in sight. He drops his pizza onto his plate. 

“We…uh…” Damn, this is hard. Where does he start? 

Sam waits, blinking expectantly. “Come on, man, spit it out. So then you hooked up. Big deal.”

Steve takes a breath. “We hooked up…at the conference in San Antonio last year.”

Sam’s mouth falls open in shock. “Was not expecting that,” he admits, gaping.

Steve winces, shutting his eyes momentarily. “I told myself it didn’t mean anything, but it did, and now he’s here, and we’re still…you know…but he doesn’t _know_ that it meant something. Then. Or now,” he finishes lamely. 

Sam’s eyebrows shoot skyward. He waves a fry around in the air. “Let me get this straight. You. Steve Rogers. Picked up a stranger at a conference over a YEAR ago and never told me? And then he takes a job here, and you’re still screwing each other but pretending it doesn’t mean anything.”

Steve nods and stays silent.

Sam lowers his head in affirmation. “But it does.”

Steve nods again and adds in a small voice, “To me it does.”

Sam pops the French fry into his mouth and chews, then clears his throat again. “Have you…I don’t know, call me crazy…_talked_ about it? Or you just go at it like bunnies?”

Groaning, Steve drops his chin to his chest. “Of course we’ve talked about it.” He brings his eyes back up, scanning the room again to make sure they’re still safe. “When he started here we wanted to keep it private. And he wasn’t ready for a relationship then.”

“And now?”

Sam is looking at him like he’s supposed to _know_ what Bucky thinks now. Like Steve is supposed to ask on a weekly basis, _hey Buck, ready for that relationship now? How about NOW?_

He shrugs.

Letting out an exasperated laugh, Sam puts his chin in his hand, elbow on the table. “Dumbass."

"Who's a dumbass?"

"You are, that's who!”

“Harsh, Sam.”

Sam picks his head up again, gesturing with his hand. “Just talk to him! Why can’t you talk to him about it?”

“It’s complicated!” Steve takes a defensive stand, but Sam isn’t buying his weak excuse.

“It’s…don’t give me that shit!” Sam points a finger at him. “You just don’t want to.”

“I don’t want to ruin it!” Steve picks up his pizza and takes a giant bite, as if to signal the end of that topic of conversation.

Sam sighs. “How long has this been going on?”

Steve shrugs and mumbles around his pizza, “Few weeks after he got here?”

“And no one else knows?”

Chewing energetically, Steve shakes his head. His unspoken plea is written all over his face.

“I’ll keep your secret,” Sam assures him, and picks up another fry. “But you’re still a dumbass.”


	17. The Plot Thickens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's co-workers do some detective work that yields unexpected results.

Ch 17

Before Bucky has a chance to rejoin them in the cafeteria, Sam is cool enough to scram in order to give Steve the opportunity to talk to him alone first. Bucky is quiet when he comes back to their table but laughs at Steve’s made-up excuse for their friend’s absence (violent, unexplained diarrhea). As they are walking back up to their department Steve tries to come up with a good way of starting the conversation—and comes up empty. Finally, he settles on the most straightforward way possible. 

“Sam knows about us.”

Bucky’s head turns to regard him in response; his gaze is penetrating, but there’s no anger in his eyes. He seems to recognize the fact that he had been acting a little strangely. “He guessed?”

Steve nods. “Said he would keep it to himself.”

Bucky nods back and is silent. Steve looks down at his feet, unsure what to say next, but Bucky saves him from trying.

“What exactly did you tell him?”

Steve’s palms start to sweat. He knew this question was coming, but still. “Just that we…that we got together in San Antonio last year and picked up again now that you’re here. And that we decided to keep it private.”

“Okay.”

That’s all Bucky says. No explanation for his earlier behavior. They climb the stairs back to their office in further silence, and it’s slightly awkward and moderately unnerving. Steve can’t tell if he is upset or just deep in thought. Or…jealous of Wade? He’s trying not to stare openly, so in his peripheral vision all he can see is Bucky’s mouth pressed into his _I’m thinking, don’t bug me_ formation. He hopes that’s all it is.

“_Is_ it okay?” he finally asks, because he doesn’t like how the silence is stretching on. 

Bucky looks over at him in surprise, as if he’d forgotten Steve was even there. He grabs the handle of the door to their floor but doesn’t open it yet, pausing to say, “Oh, sorry, I was thinking. It is, I just…”

Bucky never gets to finish that sentence, because someone pushes from the other side of the door to open it. Bucky and Steve both jump out of the way, revealing an enthusiastic-looking Thor, his short blond hair ruffled and eyes shining. 

“There you two are, I was just coming to look for you. Hurry up and get in here, we have to show you something.”

“What is it?” Steve asks in surprise. 

“Just COME ON,” Thor prods with an infectious smile, backing up to let them pass through the doorway with him. 

Bucky and Steve exchange glances and do what the man says. When a six foot four ball of whirling energy comes at you, you do what it says. Once they’ve returned to their office, Thor leads them over to where Bruce and Stephen sit. Lunch hasn’t quite ended yet, so although some of their staff is in the area, not everyone is back yet. Sam and Natasha are hanging out at the opposite end of the room, so Thor calls them down as well, beckoning to them with frenzied waves of his hands. 

Bucky leans into Steve’s ear and murmurs, “Sam sure cleaned up his pants fast.”

Chuckling, Steve smiles at him before grabbing an empty chair and sitting down next to Bruce. Bucky moves to hover behind him while the others all crowd around. Steve notices then that RIC is parked at Thor’s desk. This in and of itself isn’t unusual, of course, but the robot’s head has been partially disassembled and is hooked up to Thor’s computer, as if in diagnostic mode. 

_That’s_ unusual.

“Before we get to that,” Bruce starts, motioning to RIC when he sees Steve’s eyes on him, “We have to explain some things. See, Stephen and I have been trying to think from Cyber’s perspective.” He pushes his glasses up further onto his nose. “Remember after the first data breach, security changed out our ID’s?”

Steve nods and Bruce continues, “They thought it was an external attack. Changed them out in case cleaning staff copied someone’s credentials or some situation like that. Wade said they added security measures, too. But that doesn’t work and there’s a second breach that they trace to your desktop.”

Stephen holds up an index finger. “But they don’t fire you. Fury hauls you down for an interview, but they don’t fire you.”

“He wanted to,” Steve professes glumly.

“So there had to be a reason he didn’t.” Stephen gestures to himself and Bruce. “We figure they weren’t certain it was you, so they had two choices. Fire you and _hope_ that solves the problem or beef up security and keep working on it. We think the theft took place from inside the building, so…”

Sam draws his eyebrows in tightly and interrupts him. “Couldn’t a hacker have done it from anywhere?”

“The easiest route is always the most direct one,” Bruce explains. “You ever try to work from home?” 

Sam screws up his face. “No. Why would I do that?”

There are some giggles from Bucky and Natasha at that, but Steve knows what Bruce is getting at. 

“We can’t,” he answers. “I tried once and couldn’t get access to our systems from home.”

”Nerd,” Sam calls out, cupping his hands around his mouth to amplify his voice.

Bruce makes a face at Sam, but nods at Steve. “Right,” he confirms. “We can’t, by design. Part of Jarvis’s security. Being inside the building is the easiest way to get to the data.”

Bruce swivels his chair more toward Steve, who is reaching over to smack Sam on the leg. He misses though, when Sam slides out of the way, and gives up the attack in favor of listening to Bruce. 

”We had an idea we wanted to try, but we needed to know exactly when the second attack happened, so we talked to Tony. Cyber is being very tight-lipped with details, but Tony pulled some strings and came through for us.”

Steve is following their logic so far but doesn’t understand why he’s only hearing about this now for the first time. He asks as much, and Bruce looks a bit sheepish.

“We didn’t want to get your hopes up if it led to nothing.”

“But…it didn’t lead to nothing?” Natasha prompts from her perch on the desk next to RIC, tapping him on his stripped apart head.

Next to her, Stephen exclaims an emphatic, “No! Steve, do you remember last year, when we had that problem of Darcy and Wanda’s stuff getting nicked by the cleaning staff?”

Steve wrinkles up his forehead, thinking. “Yeah, I remember. First we blamed it on Sam playing practical jokes.”

“Which I was completely innocent of!” Sam exclaims, hand splayed across his chest. 

Thor speaks up now from his chair, rocking and tipping his head back to see Sam, who stands behind him. “Whatever, Sam, you know you’ve gotten away with a lot of shit.” Sam makes a _who, me?_ gesture that makes Steve roll his eyes. Thor ignores him and the eagerness in his tone intensifies. “Remember how we found out it was two of the cleaning staff?”

It takes a second of reflection and then Steve starts to understand the origin of his excitement. 

“Yes.” Steve’s eyes widen. “You programmed RIC to record when he sensed motion and we were all logged off, and got them on camera stealing stuff!”

From behind him, Steve feels Bucky grip his shoulder. He sounds equally excited as he asks, “Thor, are you telling us RIC recorded someone coming in to use Steve’s computer?”

Thor suddenly looks deflated. “No.”

Steve’s heart drops. Sam groans loudly.

“But,” Thor gestures to the robot in front of him, “The program never got deleted. RIC just automatically purges unused footage periodically. And we did find something we want you to watch.”

He reaches out to his computer and pushes his mouse over, hitting the play button. Steve and the others all lean in to watch. On screen is a view of their office, empty of workers. The lights in the room are turned on but Steve can’t tell if it’s at night, since their office lacks windows. The view is from RIC’s perspective, so a little lower to the ground than it would be for a regular-sized person. 

“Nat, is this what life looks like to you?” Sam quips.

Natasha, all five foot three inches of her, grins and flips him the bird.

The view had been stationary but then RIC starts to move from the area around Thor’s desk, heading down the aisle towards Steve’s end of the room.

Steve squints and leans closer. “Wait, I didn’t see anyone else there.”

“There _isn’t_ anyone else there,” Bruce confirms. “Keep watching.”

RIC stops and wheels around, now facing Steve’s desk. He can tell it’s his because his pictures are up on the wall…and because RIC’s metallic arm extends and _picks up his ID badge_ from where it sits on his desk.

“WHAT THE FUCK!” Steve yells.

They watch in amazement as RIC uses Steve’s ID to sign into his desktop computer and type in commands, one key at a time. It’s slow and painstaking, and _unbelievable._

“Am I really seeing this?” Sam wonders, scratching his head.

“RIC is our thief? And recorded himself doing the thieving?” Bucky sounds as dazed as Steve feels. 

“I never leave my badge here overnight. When did this happen?” he demands; Thor pushes the pause button and turns to him.

“In the middle of a work day—when we were all out for a meeting and the office was locked. That’s why your badge was sitting there. Someone altered RIC’s programming to allow remote access to his functions.”

Sam’s mouth hangs open. “Mother. Fucker.”

“So we give this to Cyber and let them deal with it?” Natasha asks, sounding uncertain. 

Steve’s mind is reeling. So close to finding the culprit…and so far. As much as he’d like to believe Cyber Security would clear him based on this footage, he’s not that naïve. 

“This doesn’t prove I’m innocent, just that an unknown someone programmed RIC,” he observes. Still, it’s a shitload better than nothing. He tilts his head toward his co-workers. “You guys…thank you for doing this. I mean it. You’re rock stars.”

Bruce grips his forearm. “This could be it, Steve. Outside of this department, there can’t be very many people who even know RIC is in here. We find that person, we find the thief.”

“Whaddya mean, ‘we’?” Bucky queries, as the door opens and more of their teammates troop in. 

Natasha waves at the newcomers, hops down off the counter and asks, “Don’t you want to give this to security?” 

“Of course we give it to security,” Bruce agrees, then makes a dissatisfied face. “But what if they can’t trace it? Have they been doing a bang-up job so far?”

“More like amateur hour, if you ask me,” gripes Sam. “You wanna keep snooping, Bruce?”

“What?” Steve drops his voice to a low mumble as more people enter the office, including Tony. “I don’t want anyone getting into trouble on my account. This is like, Mission Impossible shit.”

Thor makes a slashing motion across the air. “We can talk about it more later. After we fill everyone else in.”

“Okay,” Steve agrees tepidly. Looking around in doubt, he sees a bunch of determined faces. It warms his heart, but he seriously does not want anyone to defy Fury and pop up on his radar because of him. 

\--

Concentrating on his work after Bruce, Stephen and Thor’s revelations is incredibly difficult for Steve. _There’s a Mission: Impossible for you_, he thinks to himself. The footage from RIC is given to Tony, who passes it on to Cyber Security. Two technicians from Cyber come down and confiscate their robot helper, hauling it away on a trolley for examination. When that happens Tony calls a little impromptu meeting to update everyone in their department, and while the office buzzes with conversation at first, things do settle down into a more normal routine. 

They decide collectively as a group to wait and see what happens with Cyber Security’s effort to identify the real thief, before they do any additional sleuthing on their own. This is done without Tony’s knowledge; some things you talk about in front of your boss, and some you don’t. Privately Steve tends to agree with Bruce and Sam; he doesn’t have a lot of confidence they’ll be able to trace RIC’s change in programming to anyone specific, but they’re playing by the rules for now. 

While they’re in their holding pattern Steve is definitely on edge, but that’s not the only cause of his discomfort. Something just seems off with Bucky, and Steve is at a loss to explain it. Sam had asked him later that day if everything was alright and he honestly didn’t know how to answer him. There seemed to be an indefinable distance between the two of them that didn’t improve with the passage of a few days. 

The weekend went by and their golf outing had to be postponed because of rain, but even so, Steve didn’t spent any time with Bucky—he asked once through a text and Bucky had claimed to be busy. That wasn’t so unusual, but typically Bucky would include a reason why he was busy. _Going for a swim. Gotta run out and get groceries._ Not on this occasion. And he didn’t suggest any alternative time when he would be free. 

Could he be jealous? Steve considers the possibility, but last time Wade hit on him Bucky didn’t seem to have any problem telling Steve about it. In fact, that was when they’d kissed for the first time since Bucky had come to Chicago. This time? Nothing. No communication. He’s uneasy, and the feeling he has that they’re both walking on eggshells around one another makes his unease only grow. 

\--

The new work week starts and the distance, though almost imperceptive, is still _there_. Steve can’t help the feeling that somehow Bucky’s thinking pattern towards him has changed. He just doesn’t know _how_. They still joke, they still hang around each other at lunch, but a few times Steve catches Bucky looking at him with an expression he can’t decipher, and he’s too afraid to ask what it’s all about. 

As far as their project goes, they can still work together seamlessly, and they’ve now moved into phase two. This keeps everyone extremely busy as they begin building their prototype designs, and to add to the mayhem their team focus has shifted from three down to two. Steve’s original team has now been joined by Clint and Sam; while it involves some adjustment, Steve is still pleased about it. 

Aside from preventing him from obsessing about either industrial espionage or the weirdness going on with Bucky, this phase is his favorite part of any project—to actually dig in and bring their creations to life. No matter how detailed the designs are, there are invariably changes that need to be made and he likes the challenge, the satisfaction of figuring that minutiae out. Sam has always shared this excitement with him, so it’s nice to have him as a teammate again. 

Clint, on the other hand, never fails to get mad when his design doesn’t pan out perfectly in the build phase. He takes it _personally_. So while his problem-solving skills are useful, they also have to put up with his at times bitchy attitude. _Small price to pay_, Steve thinks, that is until the whining starts. 

“DAMNIT!” Clint snarls, and rolls his chair in the playroom closer to Steve’s. “The rotation on this isn’t going to be right. Peter has gone down to Materials, wanna go with me and catch up?”

“Sure!” Steve says brightly, dropping the joint he was assembling. All excuses to get up and stretch his legs during the work day are acceptable and welcome. 

“Hey,” he calls out, turning to Bucky and Darcy, sitting on his other side and fiddling with some other components, “We’re going down to Materials. Need anything?”

“No, I think we’re good,” Darcy hums distractedly without picking up her head.

Similarly, Bucky shakes his dark head without looking up, so Steve knows they’ll be occupied there for some time. He and Clint set off, taking the stairs down to the first floor where Materials is located. It also just happens to be the same floor where security is housed, and they pass by that section on their way. Steve shudders a bit, having flashbacks of his interrogation by Nick Fury. 

“Any news?” Clint asks, following Steve’s line of vision to the security entrance.

Steve shakes his head in a dejected fashion. “So far, I’m still screwed.”

Clint eyes the door. “I haven’t talked to Maria in a few days. Maybe I can check in with her and see what’s up.”

“Okay, but be careful what you say.”

Steve whispers this, though he knows there’s no sound involved in the video feed, and Clint nods and puts his finger to his lips. 

An update from Clint’s contact would be welcome, Steve reflects as they step into Materials. The department is gigantic and well populated, as engineers from various sections all come down frequently to check out inventory and options. Here they can peruse not only current stock, but anything mechanical that is possible to order. Bucky affectionately calls the storeroom Nerd Candy. When Steve thinks of this it makes him smile and then immediately have a flash of discomfort, remembering the current state of their relationship. 

They find Peter at a long counter with a lettered sign for light industry hung over it and do some shopping of their own, joking about the last time they sent him down alone for a part. He’d come back with a half-eaten donut in his hand, but no parts.

“I don’t know what you expected when there were chocolate eclairs,” Peter grumbles good-naturedly. 

Clint laughs. “You could at least have brought back some for us, asshole.”

“To the winner go the spoils,” Peter teases. “Besides, do you think the supply was unlimited? It would’ve been rude to take them all!”

“Yeah,” Steve interjects. “You think chocolate eclairs grow on trees, Barton?”

Clint groans while Peter crows triumphantly, “Exactly!”

“Why do you encourage him, Steve?” Clint drawls, turning over a potential part in his hands.

Steve grins and looks around the room while Clint debates his selection, a small part with a metal neck that rotates 360 degrees. Across the large space is the automotive section desk. Steve glances at it without much thought, then does a double take. Standing with his back to them is Brock Rumlow, jerk-face in the flesh. Involuntarily Steve snorts in displeasure, prompting Clint and Peter to look up at him.

“Dickhead is over at Automotive,” he murmurs quietly.

“Who?” Peter spins around to look; Clint barely looks up but knows who Steve is referring to anyway.

He clucks in derision. “Aww, I’m sure his terms of endearment for you are much more flattering, seeing how he wants to get down your pants so badly.”

Steve’s head turns sharply. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Clint laughs openly at that, like he’s surprised Steve is that clueless. His eyes shift to Rumlow, still talking to another worker at the Automotive desk, then back to his blond and burly co-workers.

“Rumlow ever ask you out back when you were in Automotive?”

“Yeah, but I said no.”

“Why is that?” Peter questions him, laughing when Steve replies, “Because he’s a dick!”

Clint chuckles as well. “Well, dick likes ‘em big and buff. You’re just lucky you’re straight, Peter, or you’d be in his sights, too.”

“And just how do _you_ know his sexual preferences, Barton? Something you wanna share with the group?” Peter razzes him, smiling. 

Peter is six foot two inches, two hundred thirty pounds of muscle, ninety-nine percent straight, and has a sense of self healthy enough to be flattered when both men and women find him attractive. Clint and his wife, Laura, have been happily married for years, as they all knew. They’d had many work parties over at the Barton household. Steve himself is very curious about his answer—and not because he thinks Clint has suddenly decided he’s bisexual. 

“I have to endure his presence every year at the conference in Texas. You wouldn’t believe how he treats it like a buffet bar for men.”

Steve chokes a little on his own spit and coughs into his shoulder to cover. He thinks back to the hotel bar and meeting Bucky there, though he’s not at all certain who picked up who in that scenario. They’d both been equally hot for one another. He almost gets lost in memories of Bucky, tan, sexy and splayed out naked on his hotel bed, before bringing his attention back to the matter at hand. 

Kicking his foot idly at the wooden baseboard near the floor below him, he queries, “What’s that got to do with me and my pants?” 

Clint juggles the part in his hands from one to the other and grins devilishly. “Know how you went last year in my place? Well Rumlow _very specifically_ asked me this year where you were, why you weren’t there again. He was _very_ disappointed, and I don’t think it was because of your note-taking skills.”

“Which I’m sure are admirable,” Peter tosses in with his own roguish smile. 

Grunting in disgust, Steve shakes his head. “Well he can dream on, cuz that’s never gonna happen.”

“I’m sure he will,” Clint ruminates, looking back down at the metal object in his grip. “I think this will do. Ready?” he asks, looking at Peter. 

Picking up a cardboard box filled with three or four different components he had gathered, Peter nods. Steve, who is just along for the ride, is empty-handed as he turns for the exit—and sees Brock looking straight at them. He pretends not to notice as they leave the area, rubbing his eye and fake-yawning in order to appear distracted. 

The hallway outside is noisy and bustling as employees go about their daily activities. The trio have just passed the security door on their way back upstairs when Steve hears a female voice call out from behind them.

“Hey, Clint!”

All three men stop and turn, moving to one side of the hallway so as not to block foot traffic; a slender, pretty, dark-haired woman in the dark navy uniform Steve is learning to loathe approaches. 

“Maria!” Clint exclaims, and turns to Peter and Steve. “Peter, Steve, this is my friend Maria.”

So this is Clint’s contact for information, Steve muses. He smiles politely as Maria closes the distance between them and gives them a finger wave. 

“Hi, nice to meet you. So you’re Steve,” she states more then asks, blue eyes piercing him, and Steve’s neck feels hot. 

He’s sure the red is creeping into his cheeks as he nods. Fuck, his reputation in the company sure has gone to shit fast, and it’s still hard to deal with that. 

“Just the guys I wanted to talk to,” she explains. “Got a second?”

“Oh? Uh, sure,” Steve stutters, taken aback. 

Her eyes shift to Clint and then land on Peter, hesitating. 

“He knows,” Clint says shortly. “Whatcha got?”

She shakes her head, looking grim. “Tracing efforts on the programming change were unsuccessful. This hacker, whoever he or she is, is pretty smart.”

“See? So it can’t possibly be Steve!” Clint cracks, then looks contrite when he sees Steve’s impatient and frustrated expression. “Sorry, man, just kidding.”

“Whatever your project is, it must be major.” 

The three men all look at each other and back to Maria; Clint is the first to respond to that news. “You mean the data stolen was from our _current_ project?”

Maria nods. “Yeah. You didn’t know?”

“No, we didn’t,” Steve tells her. 

Anyway,” Maria continues, dropping her voice to almost a whisper, “The initial tries were more like fishing expeditions. Small batches of data, almost like they wanted to see what they could get away with without being detected. Fury expects another, larger-scale attack; he just doesn’t know when.” 

“So that’s their big plan? Wait around until the hacker breaks in and frames Steve again?” Clint gripes.

“Fury willl be ready this time,” Maria promises. 

Steve, remarkably, is not reassured by this and neither is Clint. 

“What happens if he’s NOT?” he probes, voice hushed, and Steve listens with rapt attention. He’s glad he’s got Clint there to ask this shit for him.

“There’s not enough evidence for a criminal case,” Maria answers cautiously.

Peter smiles and claps Steve on the back, but her face is serious enough that he waits for the other shoe to drop. 

“But?” he asks, and she gives him a sympathetic look. 

“But… Tony Stark has been protecting you this far and I don’t know how much longer he can manage it. Pressure will mount from the higher-ups, and your job may be in danger.”

All of them gasp. 

“They’d fire Steve?” Clint looks angered by this, while Steve just has a surreal sinking feeling, like lead in his stomach, pulling him down to the floor. 

“No way!” Peter fires back, a little louder than is necessary. 

“Shh, keep your voice down,” Clint schools him, holding up a hand. His eyes stray and focus elsewhere; he’s not looking at Maria even as her next comment is directed at him.

“I don’t know. You have to keep this under wraps, Clint, promise,” she beseeches him, and he brings his eyes back to her. 

“Of course, Maria. No one outside our department knows anything.”

“Keep it that way, if you want the hacker to feel comfortable enough to try again. That’s why they’ve kept the attacks hush-hush so far and it hasn’t been released company wide.”

“I thought that was just to save face,” Steve puts in. 

“Or the company’s share price,” Clint quips dryly. 

The young woman’s long, straight hair shakes around her face. “I’m sorry it isn’t better news, but I’ll let you know when I hear anything else. Gotta go.”

“Thank you, Maria,” Steve tells her with all sincerity before she turns and leaves them. 

“Yeah, thanks!” Peter adds, waving. He turns to Steve and Clint, mouthing the words, _“She’s hot.”_

“Yeah. Come on, we need to get out of here,” Clint tells them both brusquely, and turns on his heel.

Steve and Peter follow, and it isn’t until they hit the stairwell and are alone that Clint slows down and speaks to them again, letting Peter get up in front of him. 

“You two probably couldn’t see who else was lurking down the hallway when Maria was talking to us?”

Steve and Peter look around him to exchange glances. “No,” they say simultaneously.

“Rumlow was behind you, bending down to tie his shoe for, like, five straight minutes.”

“Even he’s not that stupid that it takes him five minutes to tie a knot,” Steve observes. 

They troop around a landing and start up the second portion of the metal and concrete stairway. Peter turns around and faces them both, going up the stairs backwards while still holding his box of parts. 

“Do you think he could hear us?”

Clint shakes his head. “No, we were speaking too quietly, but he was acting like he wanted to hear us. It was just…”

Clint’s mouth falls open as he trails off and falls silent, and it’s almost like a light bulb goes on over his head. “Wait…”

Peter literally stops in place on the last stair step. “What?”

The other two men stop as well and Steve stares at Clint expectantly. “Clint, what’s wrong?”

“Rumlow. He knows we use RIC as a gopher.”

Steve experiences a shock like he took a punch to a lung. “What? How?”

Clint winces. “At the conference this year. I told him.”


	18. The Green-Eyed Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's attitude seems to change when time starts to run out for Steve. A plan is hatched by his co-workers that could be a cure for his woes at Jarvis, but the question remains whether or not Steve can swallow such distasteful medicine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Typing is getting a heck of a lot easier, so have a chapter, on me. And as always, stay safe out there!

Ch 18

There is a surprise waiting for them when they return to their office in the form of RIC, who has been reassembled and placed back by Thor’s desk. The big man himself waves them over to where he sits, along with Stephen and Bruce. Steve assumes everyone else is still in the playroom working, as the remainder of the room is empty. 

“Some techs brought RIC back and said we could use him like we normally would,” Thor informs them. 

Steve can see the disappointment on his face and shares it. 

Clint grimaces as well. “Yeah, my contact in Cyber said they couldn’t trace anything from him.” 

Moving around the little robot, Steve watches it as it sits, inactive. “So I’m supposed to just act like nothing is wrong? Like someone isn’t using him to frame me? I wanna bash his metal head in!” 

Thor hugs RIC in a protective gesture, wrapping his long arms around him and making a pouty-sad face, and Steve sighs. “I didn’t mean that, Thor.” He gestures to RIC with one hand. “Do we even know if they left the programming changes intact?”

Stephen shakes his head, pulling at his shirt collar in that way he does when he’s thinking. They all have their own little quirks…Natasha twirls her hair around her finger, Thor doodles on a pad of paper he keeps by his computer. Bucky…Bucky has the cutest habit of passing his tongue over his upper lip when he’s deep in thought. It’s endearing beyond belief, or to Steve it is, anyway. He gets lost in a Bucky-centric daydream involving lots of tongue until Stephen speaks up again. 

“Fury himself was in Tony’s office with him while you guys were gone. He must know _something_.”

As if he’d heard Steve’s voice, Tony himself strides out of his office and calls out his name. “Can I have a word?”

Steve shares a look with Clint before moving off; Clint nods and Steve is certain in his absence he’ll apprise the others of their conversation with Maria and the identity of their new suspect. He and Tony go into his office and sit down with the door closed, Tony behind his desk and Steve in one of the cushy chairs in front of it. Steve stares with unseeing eyes at the picture of Pepper, Tony’s wife, adorning the corner of his desk. Last time he’d seen her pretty, freckled face life was simpler. 

“I wish I had better news for you,” Tony starts, passing a hand down over his goatee. 

“Lotta people been saying that to me lately,” Steve recounts glumly. The low, grinding hum of the A/C running sounds about as cheerful as he feels. 

“I know and I’m sorry. Cyber Security couldn’t trace the programming changes made to RIC, but it does strengthen your claim that it wasn’t you.”

“My _claim_?” Steve starts angrily, and Tony is quick to calm him down.

“For lack of a better word, Steve, I know you are innocent.” 

There is honesty in his voice and his eyes, so Steve tries to compose himself again and let go of the seat cushion he finds himself gripping. _It’s not Tony’s fault_, he tells himself. Out loud he asks, “Did they leave the programming changes intact or disable them? The recording program?”

“Both are intact,” Tony holds up a hand to stop Steve before he erupts, “And before you protest, let me say I did already. Nick assures me if the thief tries to use RIC again, this time they will be able to trace the remote access point.”

“That…” Steve squirms in his chair. “That doesn’t make me feel any better about this, Tony! What if they can’t? Or what if whoever it is already tried while RIC was gone and knows now that route is compromised? What if they don’t try again, or find another way?”

“Fury is watching _everything_,” Tony states grimly and looks down, away from Steve’s blazing eyes. “We have another issue to consider, though.” He lifts his gaze and Steve can tell this is going to be bad, worse than his initial disclosure. 

“What?”

“The reporting period will be up in a couple of weeks and legally the breaches will have to be disclosed. Once that happens, the thief will know two things: that his route isn’t safe anymore and that security will be increased.”

“And he’ll be less likely to try again?” Steve guesses, frowning. 

“Maybe.” Tony says “maybe” but Steve can tell that’s exactly what he’s worried about. 

“Fuck.” Steve’s frown deepens. 

This just keeps getting better and better. He relays Clint’s information about Rumlow’s knowledge of RIC to Tony, but even to his own ears their claim sounds pretty baseless. They have zero evidence against him. Nevertheless, Tony promises to pass on the information so maybe it will give Cyber a place to start looking. 

Steve leaves Tony’s office with more assurances from him that they are doing their best, blah blah blah. He knows it’s not Tony’s fault and it doesn’t help to get mad at him, but _damn_. What the fuck is he supposed to do now? Keep working, like nothing is wrong, like he may not get canned at any moment? 

If Rumlow is the culprit, Steve wants justice. That smug, pretentious face floats in front of his eyes and Steve’s mouth twists into a sneer. He wants that asshole to get his comeuppance. But how can he fight back, with security breathing down his neck, watching his every move? Maybe he should feel safer knowing that Fury is on it, but the reality of it is his nerves are frazzled close to the breaking point. 

Sam and Bucky are on the other side of the island but clearly waiting for him when he plops down into his chair; both wear sympathetic expressions. Bucky reaches toward him with an outstretched hand but then withdraws it without touching him when the gang at the other end of the room beelines toward them. 

Clint had been down with Thor and Peter, but they all hop up and return, surrounding Steve and crowding around his chair. 

“So?” Clint pounces immediately and Steve repeats everything Tony had said to him. 

“Then we need to make sure Rumlow tries again before time’s up,” Clint theorizes in a determined fashion, pulling his own chair over and bouncing down on it with a noisy squeak.

Steve’s frown returns. “We don’t know for sure it’s him.”

“It’s fuckin’ _him_,” Sam insists, leaning over the island on his elbows. Steve was correct in thinking that Clint would spread the word far and wide. Sam goes on to declare, “He’s just the kind of douche bag to pull something like this.”

“I’d have to agree,” Clint states, nodding. “He’s a special kind of douche bag.”

“Alright, what about this?” Thor suggests. “I go in and mess with RIC’s code so he won’t respond to the remote commands. Then Rumlow will have to come down and fix it, right?” Thor makes a little walking motion with his fingers across Steve’s desk. “We could get him on camera sneaking in here.”

Bucky gives Steve a dubious look that he then turns on Thor and his wandering fingers. “Wouldn’t that just scare him off completely? Maybe he knows about the hallway cameras already. Would he risk actually coming in here again?”

“And wouldn’t Cyber get pissed off if they left the programming intact and we fucked with it? Tony sounded serious,” Steve worries. 

Clint nods. “I don’t think we can risk messing with RIC’s programming. We need to find another way of tempting Rumlow to hack in again.”

“No, we…” Steve is distracted when both Sam and Bucky stand up straight, looking somewhere behind Steve and the group clustered around him. He turns to look and sees Tony, who has migrated from his office into the workroom. He waves to get their attention and asks for everyone to come back from the playroom for a moment.

Once the others have been fetched and all are assembled and sitting relatively quietly, Tony makes his request. Steve wonders if this was his intent all along or if he heard rumblings of what they were planning and came out to nip it in the bud. Whatever his strategy originally was, he doesn’t mince words now.

“I know you all want to help Steve, but please, _don’t_. Don’t stick your noses in where they don’t belong, don’t mess with RIC, don’t do anything that may appear improper.” He looks around the room, getting mostly blank stares from what Steve can tell. “This is for Steve’s protection as well as yours,” he emphasizes. “Cyber Security has eyes on everything electronic in this place. You can’t download a weather report right now without them knowing about it.” 

So that’s that. Reprogramming RIC is out of the question, and their other options seem limited (or non-existent). Steve lets his shoulders sag and hunches in on himself, staring blankly at his computer screen. A bubble pops up on the screen through their instant message system. 

_You OK?_

It’s Bucky. A spark of hope and affection flares inside him. Maybe whatever was bothering him has worked itself out. Steve types back, _This sucks._ Bucky sends back a sad emoji. 

Tony finishes up with whatever project-related instruction he secondarily decided to give them (which Steve was totally not listening to) and lets them disperse and get back to work. Steve is much too distracted himself to be doing any real “work”. He’s at his desk, contemplating life and the nature of Bucky’s beautiful blue eyes, with that little bit of stormy grey in them, only subliminally registering the activity going on around him. 

He thought that was going to be the end of any discussion about catching Rumlow. He should have known better. Heads move together around him, coupled with a low murmur of discreet conversation and surreptitious glances towards Tony’s office. Steve doesn’t quite realize it’s all about him until Peter and Thor mosey down to see him. Sam and Clint are in their chairs on either side of him, while Natasha and Bucky are on the other side of the island.

“I have an idea how to get Rumlow to bite,” Peter whispers conspiratorially. 

“We can’t do anything, Peter,” Steve whispers back. “Didn’t you hear Tony? We’ll get into trouble.”

Sam leans over, sticking his head in between them. “You’re already in trouble, man. We’re not letting you go down without swinging.” 

“We have to _try_, Steve,” Natasha insists, leaning way over the island. There are second’s and third’s to that sentiment and when Steve looks around the circle of his friends, his heart feels full. The troops have been rallied. Still, he’s not sure what choice they have.

“You guys, I love you for trying, but what can we do?”

Peter chimes in with his idea. “It’s our stuff Rumlow is stealing. What if we feed him information that we had a breakthrough at the end of phase one? We didn’t finish till after the last breach, so he wouldn’t know it’s a lie.”

Natasha scrunches her face up, still on her elbows lying across an unusually empty space on the island. “Not bad, Peter, but that wouldn’t light a fire under him to hack again ASAP.”

Thor cracks his knuckles and speaks up. “What about this—we tell him something like this; Steve is a shitty worker and Tony is about to pull him off our project. If Rumlow thinks Steve is about to lose his access, then he’d want to get everything he could before that happens.”

“If we start trash talking Steve, Rumlow will _eat it up_.” Clint smiles at Steve with a glint in his eye. “I think he’s still salty about you turning him down for a date.”

Steve mimics sticking his finger down his throat to make himself throw up, while Sam shakes his head. 

“Yeah, no,” he says. “People, why would we tell that to _anybody_? That wouldn’t be super suspicious at all, one of us just walking up to him and blurting that out?”

Clint does a slow twirl in his chair, matching the deliberateness of his speech. “It wouldn’t be…” he says slowly, “If someone was _confiding_ in him. Shop talk, you know? Private. Not blurting.”

“None of us are friends with him, not even you,” Steve argues. “Who’s gonna talk shop with him without him seeing right through us?”

It’s not that he thinks it’s an outright terrible idea, but seriously, none of them are close to Brock. A transparent attempt to convince him to hack into their data again could spook him entirely, and where would that leave Steve? Up a shit creek without a paddle, that’s where. 

Peter is undeterred, however. “Not friends then…what about a date?” His eyes widen and he snaps his fingers. “I could fake being gay and ask him out on a date!” 

“Peter…” Steve starts, but he’s already off and running with his idea.

“I’ll be like an undercover agent in a sting operation!”

“Hold on there, Burt Macklin,” Clint holds up a hand, putting the brakes on Peter’s excitement. “Sending you on a date with Brock Rumlow is like throwing a guppy into a shark tank.”

“What? You said I’m his type! I could _totally_ pull that off!” Peter insists, and Clint talks him down. 

“No way, Peter! Yes, he’d wanna nail you, but I’m telling you, he knows exactly who to go after. He’ll know you’re not serious.”

“How?” Thor asks, curious.

“Because he’s trash,” Steve puts in, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Dude’s got, like, a dossier of everyone in the company who’s gay,” Clint states. When there are derisive noises from Sam and Thor, he insists, “Seriously. You gotta throw real chum in the water or he’s not gonna go for it.”

Peter turns to Steve and gives him a light punch to the shoulder. “Okay then, since he asked you out before, maybe you should ask him out!”

Opening his mouth to absolutely decline that awful notion, Steve stops when Thor beats him to it. 

“No, no, no, it can’t be Steve. Rumlow would definitely see that as a trap.”

Bucky, who had been silent thus far, leans over the island next to Natasha. “I’ll do it.”

Steve looks up in shock. Maybe he didn’t hear that right. “What?” he asks sharply.

“I’ll do it.” 

Bucky calmly meets his gaze and shrugs a little, tanned arms resting on the table. “He for sure knows I’m gay, he asked me out once already.”

Aside from the jolt of surprise Steve feels upon finding out Brock had previously asked Bucky out, a wave of nausea combined with a feral sense of protectiveness rolls over him. Peter, Clint and Thor express hearty approval of Bucky as their sacrificial lamb, their eyes lighting up with glee. At once they begin making plans. 

“It’s almost lunch time, you can go down and look for him!”

“Ask him out for this weekend, the sooner the better.”

“Maybe we should put a mic on you and follow you!”

Steve isn’t having this. Any of it. “No,” he blurts out loudly, and all eyes are on him with weighted stares. He can feel it, hanging heavy in the silence, though his eyes never leave Bucky’s. “You’re not chum, and you’re not doing it.”

There is a chorus of dissent.

“Relax, it’s just a figure of speech.”

“C’mon, Steve, it’s perfect!”

“What other choice do we have?”

“We have to do _something!_”

Bucky himself meets Steve’s gaze. “Give me one good reason why not,” he asks quietly.

Steve seethes equally quietly, lips pressed into a thin line. Bucky _is_ the one good reason, and he knows that good and goddamn well, doesn’t he? 

“A word?” he grinds out between clenched teeth, and with his eyes motions to the door that goes out to the hallway and kitchen.

“Of course,” Bucky says sweetly, and pushes up off the island. 

Steve’s eyes dart quickly to Sam, who fires him a warning glance but stays silent, and he follows Bucky on his way out the door. Behind him, Steve can already hear the others discussing strategy. He and Bucky are silent until they reach the empty lunchroom. 

Once inside, Bucky turns to face him and demands in a subdued tone, “Why not? Why won’t you let me do this to help you?”

“I don’t want you around that dickhead!” Steve hisses, taking a half step closer to him.

“It’s not a real date!”

“Yeah, but when you start coming on to him, he won’t know that!”

Bucky’s brow furrows. “Don’t you trust me?” 

“I trust _you_.” Steve emphasizes the _you_. “I don’t trust _him_!”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Bucky appears unconvinced. “I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself.”

They’ve both got their hackles raised, squared off against each other in a battle of wills in the vacant kitchen space. 

“If we try, we can think of something better, and I don’t want you getting into trouble because of me.”

Bucky gives him a hard eye roll. “Stop being so selfless!”

Two can play at that game. “Stop volunteering to do stupid shit!”

“It’s not stupid, it’s trying to help without breaking Tony’s rules.” Bucky holds his hands up in supplication. “Read the room, Steve. We’re doing it, whether you like it or not.”

Why is he so fucking stubborn? So intent on baiting Brock? Surely they can find another way. 

“No. You’re. Not!” Steve sets his jaw so hard, his teeth clack. 

“Why are you so fucking stubborn?” Bucky yells, throwing his hands up in the air.

“I’m not being stubborn, you are!” Steve yells back. “Now promise me you’ll stay away from that sleaze-bag!”

“You are not the boss of me, Steve Rogers.” 

Steve can’t quite tell if Bucky is serious, or just playing with him, but either way it’s annoying as fuck.

“I’m not trying to be the boss of you,” he says, more forcefully and dismissively than he means to. “I’m trying to talk some sense into you, since clearly you’ve lost your marbles.” 

Bucky shifts his weight and stares at Steve, making him feel at once very vulnerable, like Bucky can hear his thoughts, _see_ his heart pounding and know just how insane this is making him feel. 

He shrugs, suddenly unconcerned with Steve’s ire. “I think it might actually work, and I know how to handle jerks like Rumlow,” he calmly states. “He’ll believe what I want him to believe, especially if he thinks he’s gonna score.”

Steve literally sees red fill his field of vision. Just the idea of Bucky going on a date with Brock…them being together…Brock putting his hands on him in any way, shape, or form... it makes his skin crawl and bile rise in his throat. He’s trying to tell himself his feelings of “protectiveness” stem from worry about Bucky’s safety, but that’s just bullshit. Bucky is capable and strong and smart—Brock doesn’t stand a chance against him. But Steve doesn’t want Brock Rumlow to talk to Bucky, to even _think_ about him. 

Because Bucky belongs to Steve, and Steve belongs to Bucky. Period. 

But instead of saying that, or making any sort of rational argument, his next words burst out of his mouth almost of their own volition and he catches Bucky’s arm, examining his face at the same time. 

“You’re not…you’re not gonna let him touch you, are you?” 

“No, of course not.” Bucky flashes him an annoyed look and shakes him off. “Why would you even ask that?”

But Steve ignores his question and asks another. “Why didn’t you ever tell me he asked you out?”

Bucky’s mouth slowly falls open and he looks Steve up and down; his face changes, going from annoyance to enlightenment. “Gotcha,” he breathes. “You _are_ jealous!” he surmises, incredulous. 

Steve loses it. “You’re goddamn right I’m jealous!” he angrily admits, stabbing an index finger in the air toward Bucky. 

He shouldn’t be jealous. It’s ridiculous. But he is; denying it would be pointless when it must be written all over his face.But while his outburst makes him feel more tense than ever, this only seems to make Bucky relax again.

“Steve, there is no reason to be,” he says gently, clutching him by the arms just as gently. “Why are you so against this? It’s all fake. One measly date.” 

He pauses, observing his partner’s obvious discomfort. Try as he might, Steve’s not ready to concede. Every fiber of his being is still fighting this, despite the fact that Bucky is trying to help. He doesn’t want _this_ kind of help. 

Bucky sighs at Steve’s lack of any verbal response and releases his arms. “Remember when I told you I was trying not to be an asshole but I was worried I was being an asshole?”

“Yeah.” Steve nods. That night brings back nothing but good memories. He still fantasizes about that night.

“Well, you’re being an asshole,” Bucky says bluntly, pulling Steve out of his dreamy thoughts. “Why is it okay for Wade to flirt with you, but I can’t flirt with Brock _for you_, to prove your innocence?”

Good point, but Steve’s not interested in making good points right now. He’s interested in having his own way. “You said you didn’t like it when Wade flirted with me,” he reminds him, becoming defensive.

“True, but the difference is, I didn’t act like a stark raving lunatic,” Bucky reminds him back, with a smug little smile.

Steve bites his lip, feeling grumpy. Yes, he knows his jealousy is irrational. No, he can’t stop it. “As I recall, you kissed me.”

Bucky’s smile widens. “As I recall, we did a lot more than that.” 

A flush of pleasurable heat rushes to Steve’s cheeks. Yeah they did. And it was amazing. And Bucky just wants to help. Why can’t he wrap his head around this and get on board?

Bucky looks at him the way Steve likes him to, with those eyes that pull him in, and his voice is cajoling, trying to bring him over to his side. “It’s sweet that you’re jealous. And I would really like to kiss you again, if you would stop being an idiot for two seconds.”

Okay, there’s a lot of name-calling going on here, but Steve is willing to overlook that if there’s kissing involved. He would really enjoy that and it’s especially good to hear Bucky say it, given his recent, unexplained moody behavior. But, his brain continues to manufacture reasons to convince Bucky to drop the idea, and he’s got one more card to play.

He tries a softer, more persuasive approach. “Buck, Brock could be dangerous. What if you get hurt? I would never forgive myself!”

Bucky sees through him one hundred percent and calls him out, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.” He rubs his forehead in a weary way. “It’s one date, out in public. You act like I’m getting into a van with him and driving to a deserted cabin somewhere in the hills.”

Steve flinches. Can they go back to the part where Bucky wanted to kiss him? “It’s unbelievable I would be worried about you?”

There is a short laugh from Bucky and he begins to pace in front of Steve. “No, it’s unbelievable you admit you’re jealous but won’t admit you’re wrong about the plan.” He passes his tongue over his lip once, twice before seeming to make up his mind. The pacing stops and he faces Steve. “This is our best option, so I’m overruling you.”

Steve makes a sound of protest. “You can’t do that.”

Bucky shushes him. “I just did, so tough shit.” He leans in closer to Steve. “Do you _want_ to sit around and wait for them to fire you?”

“No, of course not,” Steve answers, curling his lip. What kind of question is that? “That’s not the point!” 

“Then what is the point?”

Steve hesitates, trying to reign in his emotions. His mouth opens and shuts, with no sound being emitted other than a harsh breath. 

Bucky groans in frustration and steps in close. “We are going to have another conversation about this.” His eyes flick to their surroundings. “Not now, not here. Tonight.” 

“Tonight?” Steve squeaks. Bucky is so close to him it makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up and his skin tingle. 

“Tonight,” Bucky says firmly, and breezes around him, heading for the door.


	19. Part of the Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve has all sorts of feels and gets himself into a bit of a pickle as far as Bucky is concerned. Getting himself back out is going to be the hard part.

Ch 19

After collecting himself for a moment, Steve returns to his desk. The crowd has thinned out but he doesn’t make the mistake this time of thinking it’s because planning has stopped. Au contraire, it’s full steam ahead; they’re just being more discreet about it to avoid detection by their sneaky boss. Sam gets to Steve first, asking him in a private voice if he’s alright, and Steve gives him a weak nod.

“I will be,” he answers, but before he can elaborate Clint raps on his desk with his knuckles to grab his attention, so Steve turns to face him.

“Bucky said we’re a go for Operation Dirtbag.”

The announcement is made with what Steve feels is an unnecessary amount of gusto for the occasion (specifically, sending the man he’s been longing for out on a date with another man), but he appreciates the accurateness of the name Clint chose. Really, if you _have_ to name your covert activities, which Clint absolutely does, Operation Dirtbag is spot on. 

Next to Clint, Steve can also see Bucky, who gives him a long, hard look while interjecting, “Steve needs a little more time to warm up to the idea.” 

Rather than renew his protests, Steve bites down on his tongue and grunts noncommittally. 

In his spirited mood, Clint takes this as a sign of affirmation. “I knew you’d come around.” He lowers his voice, sounding like he’s imparting a fantastic secret rather than a wish or prayer. “This is gonna work, just wait and see.”

Steve sighs deeply again and lets his chin sink into his chest, spinning back around to look at his computer rather than his scheming co-workers. He’s not convinced that a wait and see approach will help change his opinion here, but it seems he’s going to have to figure out a way to make peace with the plan. Bucky isn’t giving him any other choice. 

“You really okay with this?” Sam whispers, but before Steve can answer Natasha puts her pretty red head in between them, one arm around each of their shoulders as they sit close together at their desks. 

“Steve, I just want you to know that whatever type of relationship is going on between you and Bucky, I whole-heartedly approve.”

Steve looks around before turning to her. Since Tony’s office door is closed, Thor has called Bucky and Clint down to his end of the room (for more plotting, Steve assumes) and they are on their way, so he can speak without being overheard. That does not, however, mean he’s ready to share. 

“Who said anything is going on?”

Natasha gives him an impish grin. “Look, you can probably fool the others for a little while longer, but not me. It’s obvious you’re dating or something. I’m assuming this guy already knows,” she says, tapping Sam’s shoulder with her hand.

It was bound to happen sooner or later; when Sam gives Steve a glance, he reluctantly nods in assent. Sam then asks smoothly, “Yup. Glad my position as supreme confidant does not go unnoticed.” 

“I thought your position was supreme busybody,” she teases him, giggling and giving both their shoulders a little squeeze. “Steve, is that why you’re mad about this? Did you two have a fight in the kitchen?”

“We just have some things to talk about, Nat. Can you keep this to yourself for now?” he asks, focusing his puppy dog eyes on her. 

“Of course!” she whispers, giving his shoulder one more pat before releasing them both. “And I promise we’ll keep him safe for you.”

She skips off and Sam gives him side eye. “_Did_ you have a fight?”

Steve shrugs. “Sort of? He wants to talk about it later, not here.”

“Probably a good idea. Probably also a good idea to keep your nose down and not get too heavy into the details of it. I can fill you in later—you’ll just make yourself crazy.”

“Too late for that,” Steve mutters under his breath while nodding. 

He does exactly that, puts his nose down and tries to concentrate on some work to pass the time so he doesn’t just go round and round considering this proposed date, or about what he’ll say to Bucky tonight. _Try_ is the operative word there, though. His eyes flick across his computer screen but his mind strays and he can’t help think about Bucky at least a _little_.

One thought persistently enters his head and refuses to be pushed away—that maybe he’s been acting childishly, expecting Bucky to be the first to open up and reveal his true feelings. He was certain there was an argument to be made that the ball was in Bucky’s court. After all, he was the one who said he didn’t want to be in a relationship. Even if that _was_ months ago.

But where had that attitude gotten Steve so far? Was it really fear of upsetting the status quo that kept him silent till now, or a fear of rejection? Maybe it’s time to ‘fess up and tell Bucky how he feels about him. So the question becomes…how _does_ he feel? He’s either been denying the truth or holding it back for so long that it’s almost second nature, pretending everything is fine when in reality he can’t stop thinking about Bucky’s touch, can’t stop dreaming about them being together, can’t stop wishing Bucky was his and only his. 

He’s in love with Bucky. Completely and unreservedly. Deep down, he’s known it for a long while, but has he really admitted it to himself before now? And if it’s difficult to admit it internally, what will it be like telling Bucky? The thought makes his stomach twist in trepidation—no, _terror_ is probably more apt, but also fills him with a sense of exhilaration and anticipation. To finally be free of the secret he’s been carrying around for so long? To finally admit what he wants, what he needs? That would be liberating no matter the outcome. There’s no guarantee that Bucky reciprocates those feelings and he knows that. But what if…what if he does? He yearns to hear those words come out of Bucky’s mouth. So, he wants to talk tonight? 

Okay, they’ll talk.

\--

Steve is pretty preoccupied with his thoughts, so much so that he doesn’t even realize it’s lunch time till Sam sits on the edge of his desk and asks him what he’s got for eats that day. Having packed leftovers from home that he’s been looking forward to snarfing down, Steve eagerly jumps up out of his chair and follows him to the lunchroom and the refrigerator. 

After starting the microwave to heat up his gourmet mac & cheese and chuckling at Sam’s _yummm!_ noise of appreciation for his non-spicy lunch choice, Steve turns to look around the room. Wanda and Darcy are seated at the table and Steve remembers seeing some of the others still in the workroom as he and Sam were exiting. One person he doesn’t remember seeing is Bucky. 

“Umm… where’s Buck?”

“Around,” Sam says carelessly, but Steve sees the look Wanda and Darcy share behind his back. 

“Around…where?” he asks, and then it hits him. 

Bucky already took off to go down to the cafeteria…and look for Brock. The surge of jealousy that rockets through him this time isn’t entirely unexpected, though that doesn’t lessen the impact of it in the slightest degree. Trying to hide it from the others is a difficult, if not impossible task. 

Recognizing the look on Steve’s face, Sam holds up his hands and blocks his way. “Now don’t go getting any ideas,” he chastises him. “You need to stay right here.”

“Don’t be difficult, Steve. This is all part of the plan,” Darcy warns. “If you go down there and Brock gets a whiff that you’re involved, it could ruin it.”

“Yeah, yeah, part of the plan,” Steve repeats, making his tone sound defeated. On the inside, his heart hammers in his chest. Darcy’s concern about the situation stems from a desire to keep their plan under wraps, but Sam knows the truth of why he _really_ shouldn’t go down there. He shouldn’t, but feels compelled to anyway, just as fatally as a moth drawn to flame. 

Like that moth, Steve mentally circles the flame till he makes his decision. Then it’s a simple matter of making his act believable enough to fool his buddy. The microwave dings and shuts off so he slowly turns and takes his macaroni out, leaving the door open for Sam to place his food inside. After that he approaches the table next to the women, setting his plate down and pulling out a chair. That’s when Sam finally lets down his guard and turns away to attend to the microwave. 

It’s also precisely when Steve makes his move. He’s off like a shot, making for the stairwell across the hall before Sam can intervene. Yanking open the door, he can hear Sam cursing him out from the kitchen area, but he doesn’t stop. Hustling his ass to avoid more recriminations, he takes the stairs two at a time. He doesn’t even know what he’ll do when he gets to the cafeteria, what he expects to see, what he expects to accomplish. He just knows he has to be there. He has to _see_ it. 

At the bottom of the stairwell he pauses, looking back up. Sam’s head pops out over the edge of the rail, looking down at him. 

“Damnit Steve, you get your ninja butt back up here!”

Steve shakes his head and gives him a mock salute. “Ninjas gotta ninja,” he yells and takes off again. 

As he disappears through the exit he can hear Sam pounding down the stairs, hot on his heels. Steve cruises down the hallway, skidding to a stop when he reaches the glassed double doors to the cafeteria, propped open to ease the traffic flow. Quickly he scans the crowd, eyes darting to and fro. And then he sees them…Bucky is in a line at the grill station, maybe twenty yards away, laughing and smiling at something the dark-haired, stocky man standing next to him must have said. Something _Brock_ said. 

Steve freezes, breath catching in his chest. His eyes are fixed on Bucky and he can’t stop himself from staring. Staring at the way Bucky appears so comfortable, _happy_ even. At the way he leans in closer to Brock when he answers him, at the way he maintains his eye contact. It’s perfect flirting behavior and Brock is putty in his hands, practically drooling over him. Bucky looks for all the world like he’s _enjoying_ the attention. While Steve knows on a subconscious level that’s the _point_ of his subterfuge, it also unhinges him completely. 

He shouldn’t be here. Why did he want to witness this? To torture himself? If Bucky sees him here he’ll be super pissed off, but Steve’s feet are rooted to his spot. His horror grows as Brock nods and smiles at whatever Bucky just said to him. They are turning away from the grill station now, heading for the line to pay for their food, and that’s when it happens. 

Brock catches sight of Steve across the room in the doorway—Steve knows he’s been recognized by the self-satisfied, acidic grin that crosses Brock’s face and the way his greedy little eyes light up. Still watching Steve, Brock actually has the unmitigated _gall_ to reach out and touch Bucky’s lower back, indicating to him he should get in line first. As if he were a _gentleman_. As if he cared about anyone else other than himself. As if he _knew_ that Bucky meant something to Steve and he touched him just to say _look what I can do_.

Steve almost vomits in his own mouth. He’s certain that action was done purely for his benefit; judging by Brock’s reaction he got the information he wanted. Was that a test to see what Steve’s feelings for Bucky are? He has a moment of severe guilt, wondering if he just blew up Bucky’s game plan, but it doesn’t seem so. If anything, seeing Steve in agony just makes the evil smile on Brock’s face grow larger. He turns away deliberately and leans in to speak to Bucky, who is still unaware of Steve’s presence and of his suffering.

Seeing Brock’s pleasure at his own expense makes Steve boil with anger, yet feel completely powerless to do anything about it. As he stands there it seems like the moment stretches on for an eternity, but in reality it’s only seconds before Sam is next to him, clutching his arm and pleading with him to come on and _leave_. 

“Steve, let’s go,” he whispers, taking in everything Steve is seeing and correctly sizing up the situation. “You don’t want to be here.”

“Yeah,” Steve croaks, blindly allowing Sam to pull him away. 

Steve is silent as they trudge back up to the kitchen; Sam calls him a jackass and then immediately offers some words of encouragement. How can he even explain his impulse? Darcy and Wanda swoop in and take over the Florence Nightingale routine once they return, even though they don’t know what’s going on between him and Bucky and don’t ask—one look at Steve’s face seems to tell them all they need to know. Initially Steve just wants to sulk alone, but the sympathy they show him for his situation does cheer him up, at a time when he needs it. 

His macaroni and cheese is long gone by the time Bucky returns to their office, some twenty minutes later (not that Steve was watching the clock). Steve doesn’t even get to speak to him first; as soon as Bucky appears he is deluged with questions from Sam, Clint, Thor and Natasha about how things went with Brock. They’re all hanging about his desk, while on the other side of the island sits Steve, attempting not to pay any attention to the gory details. Try as he might, though, he can’t help pick up some of it. 

Bucky was able to strike up conversation about the Automotive division while in line with Brock to break the ice, explaining to them he feigned interest in transferring there. That way, he reasoned, if Brock became suspicious about his motives he would think Bucky was using him to get into Automotive, not using him in order to help Steve. 

“Fucking magnificent,” Thor states. “He bought it?”

Yes, he bought it, says Bucky, and he goes on to tell them how Brock himself mentioned Steve and seemed to be fishing for information about their relationship, working or otherwise. At this point, Steve pretends to be deeply involved in the schematic on his computer screen and does not volunteer any insight as to why Brock would bring up his name…like the fact that he was caught spying on them from the door of the cafeteria. 

And yes, Bucky asked him out for a date, which Brock agreed to for the following night. 

“Tomorrow?!” Steve turns and exclaims loudly, then shrinks back when several pairs of eyes land on him. Some are knowing, like Sam and Natasha’s, some are not. 

“Excellent!” Clint chimes in, oblivious to Steve’s distress. He rubs his hands together. “Let’s get this show on the road!”

\--

“I hate this plan.”

Steve mutters that sentence to himself probably a dozen times that afternoon. This most recent utterance occurs as he and Bucky are sitting on the train that will deliver them home, swaying back and forth as it rattles down its tracks. Sam and Nat had already departed at their stop; Steve and Bucky are left alone where they had parked themselves at the back of the compartment.

“So what’s gonna happen on this date?” he asks out loud. “Dinner? Can’t you just go out for coffee in the middle of the afternoon instead?”

Bucky shifts and pretends to glare at him. “Yeah, that’ll really get his motor running.”

“I don’t want his motor doing anything of the kind!” 

Steve knows his anxiety level is rising more than it should, but fuck all if he can help it. They waited to talk about any of this until they were alone and away from work, as Bucky requested, which most likely also contributed to Steve’s paranoia. Sensing this, Bucky leans over and lightly knocks their shoulders together. 

“I’m just saying he’ll be more pliable if it seems like a _real_ date. I’m just gonna flirt with him, that’s all. Stroke his ego a little.” 

The physical contact as well as Bucky’s words help some, but still…

“As long as that’s the only thing he wants stroked…”

Bucky snorts a little but doesn’t get upset at Steve’s single-mindedness. “Funny…Come on, I don’t want to argue about this again,” he simply states.

Steve heaves out a sigh, knowing he’s right. It won’t do any good to rehash the same argument a second time, when he knows full well Bucky isn’t going to give. That’s not what they’re supposed to be talking about, anyway. That part is still to come. For now, he can at least give him a _little_ bit of shit about it all. 

“This isn’t arguing, it’s lively conversation!” he teases, returning his pretend-glare.

Bucky’s mouth quirks upward. “Then why is your eye twitching?”

Clapping one hand over the offending eyeball, Steve rubs at it and thinks fast. “It’s…smog.”

Bucky chuckles and pretends to wave at the air in front of his face. Steve grabs the opportunity, as well as Bucky’s hand, pulling it down and holding on to it as he asks in earnest, “Buck, would you come up to my place straight away? We could get dinner. I’ll even let you pick.” He hesitates, then works up his courage to continue. “I think it’s time for me to be honest with you about some things.”

Whether or not Bucky knows what those _things_ are, he apparently shares the same view. Looking down at Steve’s hand clasped over his, he says, “Yeah, I haven’t told you the whole truth either and I’ve been thinking about it all week. It’s been driving me crazy.”

What? Steve stares. This is news to him, but maybe it explains why he felt that strange distance between them. Bucky’s had something on his mind…but a good something, or a bad something? Steve is almost afraid to ask, but can’t stand NOT asking. 

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me lately?” he finally asks, and Bucky looks up sharply. 

Something flickers behind his eyes and then there’s just surprise. “You knew?”

Steve doesn’t sense any fear or reluctance to tell him something unpleasant, so he grows slightly bolder. 

“Yes, and not being close to you has been driving ME crazy. I’ve…I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too,” Bucky breathes. 

The conversation is going better than Steve had hoped, and butterflies start dancing inside him as he starts to feel less worried about the evening and more excited about it. Just before they reach their train stop they order delivery online, then walk home and go up to Steve’s apartment, as he suggested. Their work bags get dropped onto the floor by the kitchen island. Bucky slides onto one of the high barstools on the end, while Steve goes around the island, opens up a kitchen cupboard and fishes around for glasses. 

“It’s been a while since we’ve been alone together. Just had some thinking to do,” Bucky posits, leaning on his elbows.

Steve turns and sets two glasses down on the counter. “I’m sorry I was so pissy earlier today. Even the thought of you fake-flirting with Brock makes me sick to my stomach.”

Bucky’s hands close around the glasses and he slides them across the counter closer to himself. “Now you know how I felt.”

_Hmm._ As he digests this, Steve pulls a pitcher of raspberry lemonade (Bucky’s favorite) out of the refrigerator and sets it down on the island. So Bucky was more jealous than he let on? Steve likes that idea more than he can put into words; a low flush of arousal starts to creep into his chest and neck. “You felt like punching Wade in the face?”

Bucky grins at that. “Yup.”

Watching him closely, Steve moves around to his side of the island, lemonade forgotten, state of arousal growing. “You didn’t exactly say so.”

“Well I’m saying so now.” Bucky gives him fucking _bedroom_ eyes, sliding them down to Steve’s mouth and back up, in a way always leaves Steve hot and wanting. Bucky angles away from the island, turning toward him as he approaches, and adds, “Know what else I feel like doing?”

Boy oh boy, is that a loaded question. Steve could hit this one out of the ballpark, if Bucky is feeling ANYTHING like what he is. He only hesitates for a second before exhaling sharply and darting in, taking Bucky’s face in his hands and kissing him on the lips. Bucky tips his head up to meet him and he opens up freely; Steve slides his tongue in, licking into his warm, sweet mouth, craving it more and more. 

He thinks he hears himself moan slightly as the kiss deepens and Bucky’s arms go round his waist, pulling him closer. The brunet spreads his thighs to bring Steve into his embrace; the barstool is high enough that Steve only has to bend over slightly, but he wouldn’t care if he was bent at a ninety degree angle, the kiss is _that_ hot. 

They press against each other, hungrily devouring each other with each successive kiss, the next more intense than the last. Steve pulls back, letting his hands rest on Bucky’s broad shoulders, and asks breathlessly, “Did you feel like doing _that_?” 

“Fuck yes,” Bucky groans, and they both dive in again for more kissing, sealing their mouths together. Steve lets his hand slip through the soft hair at the back of Bucky’s head and revels in the feel of hot, velvety tongue against his. _God_, he’s wanted this. Bucky tastes so good and feels so good in his grip. One of his hard, muscled thighs pushes against Steve’s as they couple together. If he could, Steve would climb onto his lap, but there’s not enough room on the tiny barstool for that. 

Instead, he reaches down with both hands and wraps them over Bucky’s round ass, lifting him off the barstool. Bucky gasps a little into his mouth and clutches him around the back, but doesn’t stop kissing him. Steve deposits him on the countertop, giving brief thanks to the designers of the apartment for installing something durable and heavy like quartz. 

Then he’s lost in Bucky’s kiss again, pressing in as tightly against his pelvis and chest as the physical limitations of space and mass will allow. As they make out he runs his hands along the outside of those firm, delicious thighs. It’s a shame Bucky doesn’t have on his softly worn, form-fitting jeans to be groped in, but Steve isn’t complaining. He’s hoping to get him out of his work pants at some point anyway. 

Bucky pulls at him, bringing Steve’s crotch even closer to his, letting Steve feel his hardening length against his own, and lays a trail of kisses down one side of his jaw before moving to his neck with hot, searching lips. Bucky knows every inch of his skin, every spot that is most erotic for Steve, and hits every one. The open collar of the shirt he is wearing gets fully taken advantage of. 

As Bucky licks into the hollow just above one collarbone, Steve moans in bliss. “I don’t want _him_ touching you,” he admits, eyes closed, heart pounding. “I want to be the only one to touch you.” 

In between licks and kisses, Bucky manages to growl back, “He touches me without my permission and he’s gonna lose a finger.”

Steve grins at the empty space over Bucky’s shoulder while cradling his head in his hands. “I like it when you talk like that.”

Sliding one hand down in between them, Bucky rubs right over Steve’s hard shaft. “I like it when you _feel_ like that,” he taunts.

Bucky’s hand on him is magical. Pushing his hips forward for more pressure, Steve grinds against him and takes his mouth in another searing kiss. His hands slide down and around, gripping Bucky’s ass for more leverage. As Bucky tightens his thighs around Steve’s waist, he groans needily into Steve’s mouth. 

“I want you,” he breaks off to whisper, and it’s the best goddamn thing Steve has heard all week. 

Before he can respond, the cell phone under his hand and in Bucky’s back pocket starts to vibrate, distracting him enough to get him to state the obvious.

“Your fucking phone is vibrating.” 

“Ignore it,” Bucky breathes, and his normally icy blue eyes look dark as he stares into Steve’s. With one hand he slides the phone out of his pocket and tosses it down carelessly onto the counter. 

Steve _had_ fully committed to obeying Bucky’s command of ignoring the small piece of technology—that is, until he makes the disastrous error of looking down at it where it lays abandoned next to them. 

The message bubble on the screen clearly displays the sender’s name: DIRTBAG.

“Dirtbag,” he reads aloud. “Is that who I think it is?”

With a groan, Bucky rests his forehead on Steve’s chest. “Again?” His head shakes against Steve’s pecs and he mumbles into them, “The guy is persistent, I’ll give him that.”

“BROCK?” Steve exclaims, and Bucky picks his head back up. 

“I told you to ignore it. It’s not important. He’s texted a couple times already about where to meet tomorrow, stuff like that.” 

His arms tighten around Steve’s waist to reassure him, but the effort is futile and Steve is off and running again. 

“Wait, he has your _number_ now?” he asks, agitated, and this is EXACTLY why Sam told him not to get involved in the details of the operation. 

“Yeah, that’s kind of how communication works these days,” Bucky answers, and his sarcasm is not lost on Steve. “Please don’t make this an issue.”

Tipping his head up to the ceiling, Steve counts to five, trying to calm himself down. “I know, I know,” he says. “I’m sorry, I just… FUCK!” he curses. 

“Look,” Bucky consoles him, reaching down for his cell and tapping in his password with one hand. “I’ll show you. It’s probably nothing.” 

They are still holding each other while Bucky picks it up and slides his thumb across the screen to open the message. They can both see it as it loads… an image of a fully erect cock, with the words underneath it, “Like what you see?”

Steve stares, eyes bugging. It’s a dick pic. Brock sent Bucky a dick pic. 

A DICK PIC.

Looking away from the horrific sight, he brings his gaze up to Bucky’s face. His mouth is gaping open in silent shock as well. Steve is the first to speak.

“I can’t unsee that.” That image is going to haunt him in his sleep. 

Bucky drops the phone on the counter and fixes his gaze on him. “Well, that was unexpected.”

Steve’s eyebrows shoot upwards. “Unexpected? That’s _unexpected_?”

Wrapping both his arms around Steve’s waist again, Bucky attempts to de-escalate Steve. “Just calm down. It’s not a big deal.”

But Steve is not about to be calmed down. “Not a big deal? That’s a big deal,” he insists. “You have to cancel your date.”

“What?” Bucky’s eyebrows knit together. “No.”

Steve pushes back away from him, missing his warmth at once. “You can’t go out with him, Buck—it’s clear what he expects here,” he claims, gesturing at the phone with his head.

Hopping down from the counter, Bucky stands and holds his ground. “Well it doesn’t matter what he fucking _expects_. He’s not getting that.”

Steve raises his voice, despite knowing he could be making this worse, despite having gone down this road already. He can’t help it. It isn’t worth it to put Bucky in this situation. “I don’t want you doing this!” 

Bucky blows up. “JESUS FUCKING CHRIST STEVE!” he yells. “We covered this already. Do you think I’m that much of a pushover? Do you really NOT trust me that much?”

Steve wants to pull his hair out. Why can’t he make Bucky see? “I told you I do! You’re thinking about all the ways this could go right. I’m the only one thinking about all the ways it could go wrong.”

If he thought that was going to help clear things up…he was wrong. Bucky rolls his eyes at him. 

“Oh you are, are you? Because the rest of us just aren’t as brilliant as the great Steven Grant Rogers is?”

Steve’s shoulders sag. “NO! That’s not what I…”

Bucky interrupts him as his anger spills over. “Think about this,” he spits out. “Thor and Sam spent most of the afternoon shopping online for spy equipment so you’ll all know exactly what’s going on, when it’s going on. Nat and Clint scoped out restaurant locations where there's another, secondary restaurant nearby for them to hide out in. They’re just as worried about protecting me as you are.”

Steve pauses. Well, how the fuck was he supposed to know all _that_? He’s not fucking _clairvoyant_. 

Bucky rampages on, really feeling the groove of his tirade now. “So don’t tell me you’re the only one thinking about all the possible risks here.” He throws a hand out, motioning to Steve in what feels a lot like disgust. (Probably well-earned disgust, though it will take Steve a moment to arrive at that conclusion). “I’ve thought it through, and I made the decision that for you, it’s worth it. Why don’t you think about THAT!”

Steve’s mouth drops open. He could insert his foot now, but he’s too preoccupied with the twisty, uncomfortable feeling in his gut and the burning heat of shame blooming across his cheeks. While he’s still processing all of this, Bucky squats down and grabs his work bag from the floor, then his phone from the counter. He’s halfway to the door before Steve even gets any words out.

“Buck…Buck, wait!” 

Shaking his head, Bucky doesn’t even look at him. “I need to cool down,” he mutters. “We both need to.” He waves his phone in the air. “I’ll text you later.”

He’s out the door before Steve has even swallowed the huge lump in his throat. SHIT. How could this have gone so wrong, so fast? 

_Because you’re an idiot, that’s how._

He stands there, staring at his closed door with his mind racing, feeling like complete crap. Slowly, by degrees he comes to realize that he’s been so wrapped up in his own jealously and indignation, he hasn’t given Bucky or his co-workers due credit. _Bucky_ is the one taking all the risks here and Steve has been treating him like a child incapable of making his own decisions, instead of the grown adult he is. He’s been so sure that he and he alone knew what was best. Like an _asshole_.

He walks to his door, flattens his hands against it and bangs his forehead on the hard, wooden surface. His thick skull makes a dull thudding sound, not at all satisfying. He moans, listening to it echo against the door. Mildly more satisfying. He has to go after him. Can’t let this percolate into a bigger rift than it already is. 

“Goddamn it,” he moans. 

He didn’t even tell Bucky anything important. Like, _I love you_. How did they skip all of that? 

Raging lust. That’ll do it. Nothing like hormones to deter meaningful conversation. After a sigh and a few more dull knocks on the head, Steve grabs his keys and throws opens his door, planning to walk right over to Bucky’s and have this out, once and for all. 

Instead, he freezes in place. And looks right into Bucky’s grey-blue eyes, staring back at him.


	20. Steve and the Great Big Giant Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talking. Finally! And sex. Finally!!
> 
> (Okay, fine, it's not the first sex scene, but it feels like it's been a while. So sue me.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today is a sad day for Marvel fans. The passing of Chadwick Boseman is tragic and heart-breaking. RIP Chadwick.

Ch 20

The moment Steve opens the door and comes face to face with Bucky, the cell phone in his hand buzzes. Steve looks down and spies the message _“It’s me,”_ from Bucky, then looks up at the man himself. 

“I was about to knock,” Bucky states, sounding a trifle surprised by the sudden opening of the door in front of him.

Steve draws in a lungful of air. “I’m in love with you,” he blurts out. 

Bucky’s eyes widen and his lips part in wonderment, but Steve doesn’t let him get a word in before continuing. It’s been too long, too hard, and once the words start spilling out he can’t contain them. Bucky came _back_, presenting him with the golden opportunity to make things right. To be honest. 

“I don’t want to lie anymore and pretend this doesn’t mean anything when it _does_. I’m in love with you and I should have told you a long time ago. I didn’t even say thank you for doing this for me because I’ve been so busy being a jealous jerk. I’m sorry—I’m sorry I treated you like I did. You deserve better.”

He finishes, slightly breathless, only then taking in Bucky’s appearance completely. He’s carrying two large, white paper bags that crinkle as he shifts them in his arms. Their _dinner_. 

“What… why did you come back?” he asks slowly as a new and horrible thought dawns on him. For a moment he feels sick to his stomach, thinking the only reason his neighbor came back was to deliver their food, not to call a truce after their spat. Not to be subjected to his heart-to-heart confessional.

“I came back to tell you,” Bucky starts, and as he speaks the grin on his face grows. “I was halfway in love by the time we left Texas. And I’ve been falling all the way for you ever since I got here.”

Happiness bubbles up inside Steve until it fills him completely and can’t be confined to his mere mortal body. A smile splits his face, so infectious that Bucky giggles in response to it as they stand there, gaping at each other. There’s such a surreal quality to it all, Steve can barely believe in the reality of it. He hardly remembers reaching out and drawing Bucky inside to close the door behind him. Doesn’t really recall tossing down his phone and keys and taking the bags from Bucky to park them on the narrow foyer table near the door. 

What he does remember is taking Bucky in his arms and kissing him—the longest, fullest, most romantic kiss he’s ever had in his life. Every nerve ending in his body is alive and thrumming with excitement, gratitude, astonishment. Bucky _loves_ him. Bucky is _his_. He lets his fingers tangle together in Bucky’s hair as they kiss deeply, mashed together as closely as any two people can be. It’s everything he dreamed it would be and the sense of euphoria that blankets him in its warm glow is unlike anything else. 

When the kiss breaks Bucky searches Steve’s eyes, keeping his arms around him in a firm embrace. 

“After I snagged dinner from the delivery guy I just couldn’t leave without telling you everything. Couldn’t hold it back anymore, even though I was still mad as hell at you.” 

Steve’s face falls a little but Bucky strokes one thumb across his cheekbone and gently kisses the same spot. 

“It’s okay. You just made up for it,” he assures him. 

“Buck, I tried to find you,” Steve confesses. “After Texas. Do you know how many Bucky’s there are who work for Jarvis in the state of California?”

Before hazarding his guess, Bucky beams at him like Steve just told him he won the lottery. “Eighty-four?”

“Zero.”

Bucky lets out a breathy chuckle. “Shocking. Bucky must be somewhere on the list of million most popular boy names. You know how many Steve’s work for Jarvis branches in midwestern states alone?”

Steve shakes his head as pleasure thrills up and down his spine. “You looked for me, too?”

Bucky nods. “I looked for you. And there are eighty-four.” His grin is a little lopsided. “Turns out Steve is a slightly more popular name.”

“We Steve’s are a dime a dozen.”

“Oh no,” Bucky breathes. “_You’re_ not.”

“You looked for me,” Steve repeats, gobsmacked. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this before now?”

“I wasn’t sure what you wanted.”

“Most of the time I felt like you could see right through me,” Steve relates in an introspective voice, talking to himself as much as he is to his companion. 

Bucky shakes his head. “When I first said I wasn’t ready for dating that was true, and you went along with it willingly enough that I could keep pretending. My entire adult life has been a string of relationships that didn’t work out, and I didn’t want to admit to myself how important you were because I didn’t want to lose you.” 

“I…did the same thing,” Steve admits, still holding him tightly. Nothing Bucky could say would get him to let go now. “Told myself you didn’t want a relationship, so I couldn’t risk telling you the truth.”

Bucky lays a hand on his cheek again in a tender gesture. “I’m so sorry, Steve. You weren’t the only one being a jerk. I was afraid of ruining things and I wasn’t sure you really wanted more until you got so jealous about Brock. I wanted to know I meant something to you, but even when I did, I couldn’t admit how much you meant to me. Till now.” 

Taking Bucky’s face in his hands, Steve smiles and reassures him, “You couldn’t ruin things. Or lose me. Ever.” 

Bucky circles his arms around Steve’s big shoulders. “Took me all week to admit what I wanted was you. And I don’t mean just sex. _All_ of you. I want us to be together, in every way there is,” he clarifies, and it’s music to Steve’s ears. 

“Bucky, you’re all I think about. You’re all I want. I love you,” he responds, and _feels_ the words, body and soul, doesn’t just say them. 

“I love you, too,” Bucky whispers, and kisses Steve again. 

This time there’s definitely more heat involved, prompting Steve to consider taking this to another location besides the door to his apartment. There is the small matter of their dinner, however. Pulling his head back just enough to talk, he cuts his eyes to the table behind them with the large bags of food sitting on it. 

“How hungry are you?” he asks, lifting his eyebrows suggestively.

“We’ve been over this before,” Bucky jokes. “Microwaves, Steve. Microwaves.”

Steve’s face is going to start hurting if he smiles much more. “So you can wait? Excellent, because I really feel like having a shower. With you.”

After hearing the last two words, Bucky’s face lights up and he grins, shrugging one shoulder nonchalantly. “I could maybe go for a shower,” he says, feigning indifference, but the change in his eyes from mischievous to yearning tells the rest of the story.

Taking his hand, Steve leads him further back into his apartment, down the hall and to the master bath adjoining his bedroom. Before they’ve even reached it, Bucky is pulling at Steve’s shirt to get it untucked from his waistband. They both stop to lose their shoes in the middle of the bedroom, unbuttoning their shirts at the same time. The rest of their clothing comes off in a hurry, discarded in a jumble on the floor around them.

They’ve seen each other naked before, of course, but to Steve this time it seems even more _special._ He’s never seen Bucky naked when they _belong_ to each other. He takes in his silhouette with hungry eyes—the tanned, smooth skin, the sculpted muscles, the half-hard dick perking up just for him. All of it leaves him dizzy with need. No one else gets to have this—Bucky is his.

“God, I _want_ you,” he manages to spit out before pressing himself up against that toned physique and shoving his tongue into Bucky’s mouth to claim another searing kiss. 

They grope and fondle each other as they share messy kisses and stumble their way into the bathroom. Steve flips a light switch, which illuminates the row of bare bulbs housed over the sink and medicine chest. The bathroom is mostly gleaming tile in a subdued mossy green color. Steve usually finds it relaxing, but in this moment, a relaxed emotional state isn’t quite what he’s going for. He breaks away only long enough to pull open the glass door, reach into the shower stall and turn on the hot water before resuming their oceans-deep kiss. 

From there it’s a short wait and a shorter trip inside the shower for the two of them, still making out and clutching each other like two frisky teenagers. As the hot water pelts their skin, Steve turns Bucky’s back to the shower head and rests his arms on top of both his shoulders. From there he can reach the bar of soap from the shower caddy and lather up his hands, keeping the bar of soap in one palm. 

Once he’s sufficiently sudsy he sets to work on making Bucky’s torso equally sudsy, starting at his delectable shoulders and working his way in microscopic increments down over his pecs. No point in rushing when the view and the sensations under his hands are so fantastic. Bucky stays still and allows Steve free rein to do what he likes—and what he likes is to soap up every damn inch of the sexy body in front of him.

“Damn, Buck, I never knew you looked so amazing wet,” he observes, and Bucky gives him a crafty grin.

“Now maybe you’ll finally start swimming laps with me at the gym.”

“Maybe you should swim and I’ll just sit on deck and watch you,” Steve teases, running his hands up and down his arms. 

Bucky has been trying to convince him to take up swimming with him, to no avail up to this point. As Steve’s eyes drop and take in his bare chest and the rivulets of water running down through soapy trails everywhere, he thinks that may change. Under Bucky’s heavy, watchful gaze Steve finishes his tour of steely biceps and pristine abs. He leaves Bucky’s cock for the moment, knowing if he goes for that right now, this will all be over too quickly. Instead he commands him to turn around so he can address his magnificent backside. 

The muscles of Bucky’s upper back flex as he spins and raises his arms, resting his palms on the shower wall over his head. He tips his head back to let the spray of hot water run over his hair and face, with trickles running down his back. Steve makes himself useful by soaping up the entirety of his wide back, all the way down to his tapered, trim waist. 

From there his next target is obvious—Bucky’s sinfully sweet bum. He slides both hands down over the firm, rounded muscle, pressing wet kisses to one shoulder blade where the soap has washed off as he does so. He can hear Bucky’s sigh of contentment as well as feel the rise and fall of his chest, before Bucky turns his head to reverently whisper his name. 

_“Steve.”_

Steve dips his soaped-up fingers in between the cheeks of his ass, rubbing up and down to tease him. He moves closer, bringing his chest in contact with Bucky’s back, spreading more languid kisses across his upper back. His hardening cock, tingling and throbbing like crazy, brushes up against him too and Steve groans with pleasure.

His partner, though, has had enough torment and spins, catching Steve’s wrists in his hands. “My turn,” he breathes, and takes the soap from him. 

Giving him another kiss, this time on the mouth, Steve smirks. “Have at it.”

“Oh, I will,” Bucky promises, turning the soap bar in his wet hands to lather up. He touches Steve’s shoulders first to move him, switching their positions so Steve’s back is to the shower head. He works his hands over Steve’s chest first, taking extra time and care over the swell of each pectoral muscle and the light thatch of hair there. 

Bucky’s fingers are _magic_, his caresses bringing up goosebumps all over Steve’s body despite the heat of the shower water. He soaps Steve up methodically, thoroughly, his eyes constantly roving, taking in Steve’s form as if for the first time. It’s exactly how it feels for Steve too: as exciting and stimulating as it was the first night they spent together. 

Once Bucky has finished with his chest and arms, he also has Steve spin so he can take care of his back. Steve lets the water’s spray hit him full in the face and chest, washing away the suds from his torso. Bucky’s hands and the bar of soap glide over his back and then down over both hips, but here their path diverges from Steve’s. 

Pressure at his hips alerts him to turn around; he lifts his arms, wrapping them around Bucky’s neck as he faces his lover. Soapy, slick fingers fan out over the cheeks of his rear and delve inward, probing him. Steve sucks in a breath and holds it; Bucky’s eyes are locked on his as he rubs an index finger over his hole, watching his reaction. 

As the ring of muscle reflexively flutters and tightens, Steve’s eyes drift shut and he moans softly. Bucky presses a soft kiss to his mouth while his finger still moves up and down through the cleft of his ass, and Steve moans helplessly against his mouth again. Bucky shifts, bringing his mouth close to Steve’s ear. 

“I’ll bet you love getting eaten out, don’t you,” he whispers, and the simple mention of it makes Steve clench in anticipation. 

“God, _yes_,” he groans. 

They’ve never done that before and Steve doesn’t know if that’s even something Bucky enjoys, but he’s fantasized about it plenty of times. Just the thought of that plush mouth working him over has led to some pretty great jerk-off sessions when he’s been alone in the shower. He doesn’t have to imagine it now, though. He opens his eyes and finds Bucky’s blue ones turned dark and intense, burning into his. 

“Well then,” he drawls with those gorgeous red lips of his. “I can’t wait to get my mouth on you.”

All Steve can do is whimper softly and grip the two strong shoulders in front of him; Bucky’s focus changes and one hand slides around Steve’s thigh to stroke up the length of his cock. His palm slides easily in its soapy state and his fingers curl tightly around Steve’s length, adroitly pulling and tugging at him. 

“Buck, yes,” Steve moans in encouragement. 

“Come a little closer, sugar,” Bucky murmurs.

His other hand, the one with the soap bar in it, disappears from Steve’s ass; Steve looks down to watch in silent awe while Bucky soaps up his own dick, then holds up the bar. Steve helpfully takes it from him and twists partially away so he can toss the soap back into the tray it came from, then resumes his former position with his hands resting on Bucky’s shoulders. 

Taking both dicks in hand, Bucky holds them together and strokes them both. Both men groan as the new sensations overwhelm them. Steve thrusts his hips a bit, pushing into Bucky’s hand, letting his cock slide against Bucky’s. It’s fucking _incredible_. Sudsy, glorious friction. Their breathing grows heavier as both their arousal levels spike.

Steve digs his fingers into the wet hair at the back of Bucky’s head and pulls him in, renewing the heated kissing they were doing earlier. Bucky’s tongue wraps around his; they rut against each other in the steamy shower stall until Steve is ready to blow. If it was any more perfect, he might pass out. His orgasm is close, so close, dangling within sight but just out of reach as his insides burn with his desire. 

Pumping his hips in time with Bucky’s thrusts, Steve lets the wave of heat and bliss build inside until it rolls over him like a tidal wave, intense and overpowering. Bucky’s thick cock rubs against his on one side; on the other, his hand encases them both. It feels _so fucking good_ and he cries out in a low, gravelly voice when he hits his peak, spilling himself all over Bucky’s hand and stomach. 

Two seconds later, Bucky’s release comes and spatters all over Steve’s abdomen; he gasps and cries out in a repeat of Steve’s reaction, one hand shooting out to brace himself on the fogged-up glass of the shower door. Their cum mixes together in a sticky mess, but that’s surely one of the best things about shower sex—the easy clean-up. 

After they slowly wind down, they both lather up a second time and rinse off, quickly and efficiently, for they both know the shower was just the prelude to the main event. They exit the stall and towel off, and this time it’s Bucky leading Steve back to his bedroom. 

“On your back,” Bucky directs him, nodding his head toward Steve’s big bed. 

It’s neatly made, as usual; before Steve complies, he goes to the side opposite Bucky and pulls down the comforter, shoving it out of the way toward the bottom of the bed. Bucky does the same on his side, smiling but not commenting on his partner’s neat-freak ways. Steve appreciates not being called out this time (just one of the many, many things he appreciates about Bucky), even though he himself is reminded of San Antonio. Back then he removed the comforter from the bed for a different reason; he’s not worried about bed bugs here.

This time he just wants to keep the fabric clean, because he’s fully expecting them both to make more messes in the not-too-distant future. As he clamors up onto the bed and flips to his back, Steve takes another appraising look at his lover. Bucky had toweled off his hair in the bathroom and then shook his head. The damp ends appear a bit disheveled, but it’s a sexy look on him, not messy. His locks curl slightly when wet, hinting that if he let his hair grow out it would be wavy. 

Steve loves the way Bucky’s hair feels in his hands at any length but does admit to some curiosity as to how he would look with longer hair; he reminds himself to ask him about it later. Right now, there are more important things on the docket to consider. Bucky crawls to him like a panther on the prowl, climbing over him on all fours with his hands braced on either side of Steve’s shoulders. He bends his elbows to lean in and tenderly, softly kiss Steve’s lips.

“Don’t move until I ask you too, okay?” he beseeches him.

Steve bites his lower lip and nods. That’s going to be a tricky business for him, as his inner bottom bossiness tends to come out when he assumes too passive a role for his liking. Bucky knows this intimately well by now; in fact, he hasn’t moved yet, apparently unsatisfied with Steve’s non-verbal-only response.

His eyebrows arch and he ducks his head down, hovering just above one of Steve’s nipples without touching it. “Promise?”

Steve nods again and sucks in a breath. His nipples are already standing up like he’s lying in a snow bank somewhere in sub-zero weather. Last time Bucky sucked on one of them it was like an out of body experience.

“Well?” Bucky says, tantalizingly close to one pert nub, “I’m _waiting!_”

“Alright already, jeez, I _promise_,” Steve babbles. “Just come on, _please_?”

A slow smile creeps across Bucky’s face, amused as he is by Steve’s impatience. “That’s better.”

He makes Steve wait no longer, dropping his head and taking the nipple into his mouth to suckle it. Bringing one knee inside Steve’s legs to bat at one of them and move it out of the way, he gets comfortable in his spot above him and settles in. Numerous slow licks, over one nipple and then the other have Steve purring like a kitten in no time. 

At first, he does pretty well with the whole no-moving concept, allowing Bucky the freedom to kiss his way down the center of his chest and abdomen. Bucky follows the dusting of hair down to his navel but doesn’t travel further south yet. Instead he sits back on his haunches so that he can use his hands, sliding his spread fingers along Steve’s flanks at the same time his mouth veers off to one side of his torso.

Barely-there, open-mouthed kisses are delivered as Bucky’s mouth flutters up and down his left side, then right. This is when Steve’s dilemma becomes apparent—he wants to use his hands and hold Bucky’s head to him, run his fingers through his hair, scratch his nails down his back. A promise is a promise, though, so he closes his eyes and searches for the strength to keep still. 

“I wanna use my hands.”

“Uh-uhn,” Bucky mumbles into his skin. “Still my turn.”

Bucky likes to turn him to jelly, and he likes to do it knowing Steve wants it badly and desperately. Everywhere Bucky touches him, his body tingles. As his arousal level starts to recuperate from their shower escapades and increase in intensity, so does the size of his erection. There’s no relief to be had there, either, though a few rough strokes would feel pretty fucking good right now. 

His arms are down by his sides and he barely manages to keep them there, gripping the sheet under him, especially when Bucky dives down further, licking a wet stripe up the length of his cock. He gives him a light suck just at the tip before wrapping his mouth around him and swallowing his cock down whole. A tawdry moan escapes Steve’s mouth. Pausing, Bucky pulls off and thumbs at the wet head to tease him.

“What’d you say, baby?” 

Opening his eyes and looking down, Steve sees the smirk playing around Bucky’s sensuous mouth.

“I said karma’s a bitch and you’re gonna pay for this.”

“Oh, in every way I can imagine, I hope,” Bucky agrees in a sanguine voice and taps his side. “Flip.”

Rolling to his belly, Steve’s gut clenches with excitement and lusty expectation. Memories of his earlier fantasies flit through his head but do nothing to prepare him for the moment Bucky spreads him open and touches his tongue to the puckered skin around his entrance. He moans, knowing how filthy dirty the sound is and not caring, mashing up the pillow under him and gripping it just to have something to ground himself with. 

Bucky’s tongue is hot and soft, lapping at him slowly, brazenly, in tight circles around and then directly over his hole, taking Steve apart bit by bit. His lips are just as satiny smooth as they move with delicate purpose over his skin. Waves of pleasure radiate through Steve’s core; the heat generated coils up inside him and spreads rapidly to his limbs. He’s aware of Bucky’s hands on his ass, of Bucky’s body in between his spread legs, but his world revolves around Bucky’s _mouth_, undoing him in spectacular fashion. 

He babbles as Bucky licks and kisses and sucks, creating nonsensical sounds of elation and encouragement—not that Bucky seems to need that. The noises of appreciation he’s already making, as if he’s got a hot fudge sundae in front of him, are enough to send Steve into madness. His cock is fully hard now and weeping at the tip, but he doesn’t want Bucky to stop what he’s doing to address it. Oh no, he’s fine right where he’s at. Steve would _beg_ for more if Bucky asked him to, without hesitation. 

“Bucky, jeezus Christ,” he mumbles into his pillow as Bucky’s tongue probes him again. “Are you up yet?”

“Are you _kidding_?” Bucky surfaces, gives him a sumptuous kiss on the cheek of his ass and scrambles to get the lube out of the bedside drawer. As he moves, he says, “Steve, holy _fuck_, I could eat you out, fuck you and then eat you out again, that was so goddamned good.”

Steve offers a weak whimper in response and pushes himself up onto his hands and knees. Bucky gets behind him; Steve looks back to watch him stroke himself to coat his dick with the lube. He’s definitely up, his erection so thick and delicious-looking Steve can hardly wait to get it inside him. He’s so freaking turned on, he _can’t_ wait, it seems.

“Come on, Buck, hurry up,” he pleads. “Put your dick inside me. I want you so fucking much.”

Bucky responds by snugging his body up tightly behind Steve’s and fingering his hole to align himself. He breaches Steve slowly, giving him time to adjust to the intrusion. His hands cradle Steve’s hips and he slides in smoothly with a long, satisfied exhale. Once fully ensconced inside Steve’s body he bends forward over him, draping himself over his back. One kiss is bestowed on Steve’s shoulder blade and then he’s off and running, ghosting hot breath over his neck.

His strokes are long and slow, embedding himself deeply inside Steve with each pass and pulling back almost all the way out. Every thrust is heavenly, better than the last, filling him up beautifully. Steve’s legs start to shake when Bucky finds the right angle and starts nailing his spot, the one that makes him see stars with every piston of those hips, every slap of skin against skin behind him. 

Bucky is railing into him hard, grunting with effort, and it’s _so freaking good_ Steve could cry. He’s using a considerable amount of force to push back against him and bring him in as rock-bottom deeply as he can. From the start, it’s been one of his favorite aspects of sex with Bucky—his size and strength. His body is as powerful as Steve’s is, and that has made for some truly epic lovemaking sessions. 

He feels it even more acutely now, secure in the knowledge that they _belong_ together, the two of them. Bucky is his to worship from here on out and Steve plans on taking full advantage of that opportunity. Like now—Bucky is drilling him faster, fucking into him with abandon, gripping Steve’s shoulders tightly. It’s intense and absolutely amazing, and Steve thanks his lucky stars over and over. 

Bucky’s cries grow more higher pitched as he nears his climax and Steve has heard them enough times now to know when the moment hits. Bucky gyrates against him in short pulses, emptying himself into his lover and moaning his name under his breath. As his head drops and rests against Steve’s upper back, one hand snakes around his waist and finds his still-strong erection.

There’s still enough lube on his hand to make for silky, dreamy strokes over Steve’s cock. He fists him, giving him a few firm passes and low-pitched words of inspiration.

“Come on, come for me.”

Steve is happy and willing to oblige. Bucky’s hand rubbing over his cock almost immediately produces the desired result, he was so ready to erupt. He comes with a short, strangled cry, feeling the hot blast of his own seed hit splatter over his stomach. Bucky hums in approval and sags against him as his softening cock slips from Steve’s body.

Gently he guides Steve down onto his side on the bed and spoons him, kissing his hair, his cheek, his shoulder. They trade murmured _“I love you’s”_, much to Steve’s never-ending delight, and though he knows eventually they’ve got to get up, clean up and perhaps eat that dinner they didn’t get around to before, he still fights it when he feels Bucky shift behind him.

“Don’t you even think about getting out of this bed,” he cheerfully chastises him, and Bucky chuckles in response.

“Okay, but I thought golden showers were _off_ the menu.”

Steve rolls to his back in the created space next to him as his bed-mate sits up, and pretends to glare at Bucky balefully. “You’d let bodily functions ruin a good cuddle?”

There is a brief snort of laughter next to him. “Good cuddles cannot be ruined. In fact, that cuddle will live on in my memory forever, Steve.”

“Ha, ha,” Steve grumps, but he pushes up to sitting as well. “Buck,” he says more seriously, “Don’t go home tonight. Stay with me, please?”

Bucky’s eyes are luminous as he smiles at him. “Jazzy is gonna want her dinner tonight, too.”

Before disappointment hits Steve too hard, Bucky continues. “I have a better idea. You grab some stuff, come home with me and stay at my place so we can be together.”

A brilliant, white smile takes over Steve’s face. “Yeah?”

Bucky nods and bites his lower lip, taking in Steve’s still- naked form. “Yeah. And maybe later we can christen _my_ bed.”


End file.
